Boys Will Be Boys
by svartbil
Summary: Kyle is facing many firsts in this story, one of those being Eric Cartman. A perfect blend of teenage mischief, South Park nostalgia and sinful slashing. Focuses mainly on Kyle/Cartman, with an element of Kenny for the patient reader.
1. A generation lost in pace

The small crack in my ceiling is what I lay staring at this particular morning. I'm waiting for the snooze alarm to go off since being too awake to close my eyes but too relaxed to get up. The family makes noises outside in the hallway, opening and closing doors and running water from inside the bathroom. I feel at peace like this, the world around me flowing at fast pace but myself being at pause. I let my thoughts stream through my head without paying any significant attention to them as time flows by.

I'm being pulled back to normal pace when the riveting alarm goes off, violently vibrating on top of the night stand. I tap my phone screen, leap out of bed and march to the bathroom. After a quick shower I observe my image in the mirror. I guess the nose is not my strongest feature; it's too sharp, although perhaps it weighs out my other androgynous features. Like my small chin and almond shaped eyes. I didn't wash my hair since it gets out of control after being wet and it takes ages to dry, even now when it's cut quite short. It won't remain that length for long however, it grows like weed. I'm more careful nowadays about cutting it regularly than when I was younger though. Back then I didn't really care as much about it.

I return to my room to get dressed. In middle school, the absolute first thing I would do was to pull the green hat over my fluffy hair. But that habit's gone. Instead I pull on some dark green jeans and a red plaid shirt and look down at my body. Hopefully I'm still growing 'cause I'm very lean, like my body mass isn't catching up to my height. My current height is alright though. I always had a complex with my short stature when I was younger (and a lot shorter) from playing basketball. However, I gave the basketball up in freshman year. Like, I did have a secret dream of playing it professionally, making me practicing it five days a week. But reality was catching up and I lost my appetite for it. Nowadays, the only basketball training I get is the one I teach every Sunday for the fourth graders at my old elementary school.

As I make my way downstairs my mom notices me being up and going. I hear her calling from the kitchen.

"Don't go out the doar without having breakfast, Bubbie!" Her clear voice sets out a bit of irritation inside my newly woken self. No matter what, I still have to get to the kitchen for my insulin. Ike is sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and his messy dark-haired head is bent over a comic book, not looking up as I enter. Mom is cleaning stuff up at a swift pace. "I made you a sandwich over there, sweetie." She says nodding at the counter.

"Great, I'll have it on my way. I'm a bit late." I answer as I fetch the tiny kit from a drawer and work my magic.

"You shouldn't sleep in so late, Bubbie." She says clinking with plates and mugs as they go into the dish washer. Deciding that I don't want to carry on a discussion this early I don't respond to her but snatches the sandwich and head to the front door. There I put my breakfast in my canvas messenger bag. I'll have it later after first class when my hunger has come to life. I can't possibly eat anything for two hours after wakened in the morning. I hear my mom from inside the kitchen again; she probably thinks I'm still in there. "Now I can't give you a ride to school, because Ike has a field trip I need to take him too." Then Ike starts protesting he wants to ride with some classmate and a discussion is on. I take my chance to sneak out, so quickly I put on my new gray wool coat and tie my old boots.

It's a bit morningly chilly outside and I wish I had some gloves. However, I stroll down the lane past Stan's house. We rarely go to school together since he's in another class with another schedule. That was quite a bummer when we began high school. I reach the next house and walk up to the front door. After ringing the doorbell I hear some muffled shouts going on inside. Shortly thereafter, the door is opened by Liane standing in her fluffy pink morning robe with a sleepy look on her face.

"Good morning Kyle. I think Eric will be ready soon." She greets with a gentle smile as I hear running from the stairs and seconds later, Cartman appears behind her. He's buttoning a green shirt over a t-shirt as he walks up to the door and shoves his mom aside.

"I'm ready, I'm ready, Christ!" He grunts and pulls his feet into his sneakers. The light brown hair of his is a bit tousled, having had a hand combed through it at best. Liane moves away and says something about going back to bed. She also wishes her son a nice day before walking up the stairs but Cartman seems to stressed and grumpy to answer. He throws his black jacket on and hastily grabs his backpack before launching out the door, pushing me aside to slam it behind him. With long strides he walks over his yard and I have to jog to catch up with him.

"Geez, you slept longer than I did." I remark undemanding.

"Or maybe you are just too early, Jew." He retorts.

"Well, someone has to come waking your lazy-ass up." I hurl at him. Without an answer he puts a foot in front of my knee, making me stumble with a chock. I give him a punch in the arm with my elbow and he yelps with an "Ow, you bitch!"

Since Cartman and I are in the same class we often ride to school together, a habit we picked up in freshman year. It might sound strange but I'd rather accompany someone with a sulky morning temper, like myself, rather than somebody with a cheering one. Although I enjoy Butters' company overall, the mornings he accompanies us on the bus can get quite exhausting.

"I honestly thought of skipping morning class today." It slips out of Cartman.

"Yeah well, you will feel better afterwards, knowing that you went." My statement makes Cartman snort at me.

"You should say. When was the last time _you_ skipped class." He asks rhetorically. Good point, the only few classes I've missed are the ones I came late to due to over-sleeping. I snort back at him with a glare before noticing someone has already made it to the bus stop, a slightly slouching figure, blowing out the smoke from a cigarette. Cartman walks up to him ahead of me with his arm reached out.

"Douchebag! What's going on, man." Cartman gives him a light punch on the back, to which he responds giving Cartman one in return with his cigarette-free hand. As Douchebag sees me he cranes his neck in a greeting and I do the same.

We learned to know Douchebag when he moved to South Park at the end of fourth grade. His nickname was stated first by Cartman as a being-the-new-kid-insult, though many people quickly grew to liking him and the name earned more respect. Now five years later he's still stuck with it. People rarely call him by his real name since Douchebag is a lot easier to remember him by. Although some of the girls at school call him Dovakiin, presumably the ones having a crush on him.

The three of us stand in a row, exhaling steam into the frosty morning air, like we've been doing every morning for so many years. It's October and you can tell the season is getting prepared for the snow coming. Usually Kenny waits with us too, but he cannot always be counted on for making it. The only company we have is four preschoolers occupying the bench; they are all watching something on one kid's phone.

"You going to Clyde's thing tonight?" Cartman asks directed to Douchebag who responds with a pensive shrug, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke. I think he picked up the smoking habit from hanging out with the Goth kids. Thankfully he didn't pick up their clothing style. He usually dresses like Kenny. Although the holes and tears in Douchebag's clothes are bought like that whereas the holes in Kenny's clothes all have a story behind them.

"I know I am. A hell lot of people were attending. It'll be sweet." Cartman continues as I remember the Facebook event being sent out to ours and another sophomore class earlier this week. "Come on, Douche. Don't make me get stuck the whole evening with Jew here." He taunts while giving my arm a punch. "We always end up carrying him home." He snickers, making Douchebag smirk shrewdly.

"Geez, Cartman. **One time!**" I cry out with my palms up.

"Kahl, you're lightweight, I can't risk having my night ruined." Cartman says to my face with an exaggerated tone, like he's talking to a retarded six-year old. While he speak, the bus approaches and stops with a loud hiss. "You have to wait until you can handle the strong stuff." He continues in the same tone as we step on one by one behind the four preschool kids.

"Fuck you Cartman, the only reason I got wasted was because _someone_ fucked up the drinks with like sixty percent hooch."

"Don't blame your lightweight on the bartender, Kahl. That's not kewl." He smirks as we walk up to the middle of the bus where the only two-person seats facing each other are and we plump onto them, Cartman on the opposite side of Douchebag and me. Douchebag puts his well-worn deep blue converse up on the seat next to Cartman, who puts his own foot between our two seats. "But seriously, we need to get some hooch." He says. Douchebag nods.

"I know a guy." He responds. Guess that means Douchebag is going then.

"I can give you twenty-five bucks." Cartman suggests, and then glance at me. I ponder a bit.

"I'm in for forty." I finally tort.

"Damn, Jew." Cartman sniggers.

"Shut up. I'm all in for handling the strong stuff." I shoot at him and he makes a _not bad _face. "Get me a Morgan or something." I say directed at Douchebag who cocks an eyebrow. "Then we'll see who's lightweight."

The bus stops at South Park elementary and a bunch of chattering kids jumps off. It is only two stops from ours, a walk taking no more ten minutes. But everybody takes the convenient bus anyway, including us when we went to this school. Nowadays, our ride is a bit longer since our school is located a bit outside of town. Both students from South Park and Greeley go there. The Greeley kids are even more on the hillbilly side than us from "the town" of South Park and Cartman really likes to spot on the small differences. Like which ones are wearing the same clothes all week and carry the poorest lunches. At least his remarks have become more discreet, dare I say he has got improved social skills since middle school, when he and Douchebag became close buddies. I guess his newfound social confidence helped him to stop comfort eating. Plus when his height sprinted, his weight became more proportionate. He's still tubby though, but at least he looks better, especially with all that fat gone from his face. There's just a small crease on his neck where the double chin used to be.

It surprises me he hasn't had a girlfriend. But then again, none of three of us had really. For me, It's not like I've had zero proposes, but I just wasn't interested. Mostly, girls just annoy me. I thought I would grow out of it like everyone else did. However, it's like the only action I get is when I hear my friends talk about what (and who) they've done. I know Douchebag had a thing with Bebe Stevens; they even banged at some field trip in eighth grade. Anyways, they were never exclusively dating, perhaps adding to Douchebag's bad boy image. The girls think it's so hot with him being quiet all the time, like he's mysterious or something. I really don't get that logic.

"Kahl, stop dreaming about tits and ass!" Cartman snaps with his fingers in front of my face, making me flinch a bit. "It's our stop."

* * *

It is half through second class and I'm half through the questions of the renaissance chapter in my history textbook. Of boredom I've began filling in the holes of the printed letters when the classroom door opens and as people look up, a sly hooded face saunters in. He glances over his peers and then at the teacher.

"Sorry for being late, had to drive my sister to a field trip." He apologizes with a cunning smile. No matter what excuse he pulls, he always use that smile. Like he thinks nobody can accuse him of anything. The teacher purses her lips and peer at him over her glasses, like she can't scold him because he mentioned his sister, whom he is known to be very protective of. The teachers at both this and Karen's school have accepted Kenny as her unofficial guardian, being aware about their situation at home.

"Read chapter four and answer the questions." She states monotonically and returns to the papers on her desk. Kenny nods overweening, pulls down the dark blue hood from his head so his thatch of tousled dirty blond hair is exposed. With a torn textbook under his arm he ambles up to a seat next to mine, one of the few untaken ones left in the classroom. He sits down with a loud thud which makes a few annoyed faces turn. But of course Kenny doesn't care. He opens his textbook and skim through the pages without taking notes. After a few minutes he leans toward me.

"Will you be at Clyde's tonight?" He whispers hoarsely. I toss a peek at the teacher, her attention is directed down at her papers. Kenny has returned to an upright position so I lean to him.

"Yes. Me, Cartman and Douchebag." I whisper a bit smoother. Without looking at me Kenny nods.

"**Eyes on the book, Kayl!**" The teacher howls, pronouncing my name exactly like my mom does, which always makes me shudder. I return to filling the letters with ink but not much later, a slick hand with bitten off fingernails drops a folded piece of paper onto my book. He'd torn the piece from his own textbook… I develop it.

_so who's holding?_

Geez, doesn't Kenny know that the written word always gets you caught? I glance over at Douchebag sitting diagonally behind me with headphones in his ears and a look of apathy on his face, sliding a finger along his phone screen. I scribble down three letters and quickly put it on Kenny's desk.

_D is_

About ten seconds later, the note is back on my desk.

_what about some mj?_

Now he's really pushing it.

_We'll talk later_

After dropping back the note I return to actually answering the questions, not hearing another word from Kenny during the rest of the class.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later the teacher finally releases us and the corridor outside becomes crowded and filled with chatter. People hang at their lockers conversing while changing books for next class, which will become mixed with the other sophomores since it's foreign language. Folks will surely be talking like me and Kenny just did. Speaking of the devil I feel a soft punch at my shoulder and then Kenny crashes with his back into the locker beside mine. Folding his arms he looks up at me.

"Is it safe to talk to you now?" He asks a bit sarcastically. I take a look around somewhat uneasily, but people seem to be caught up in their own conversations. I lean into him a bit anyway, speaking with a low voice.

"Dude, I thought you were talking about booze." I snigger and clutch my notepad between my knees, reaching up to pull out my Spanish text book. Kenny cocks his eyebrows with a sneer.

"Well, this morning I met up with a buddy…"

Of course he did.

"…and I got a little discount on some of his finest." He pinches his thumb and index finger together in front of his mouth, as if holding a cigarette. "Don't ask me how, that's _my_ business. However, I do wish to share it with my fellow friend who always lends me his notes after class." Kenny gets a sweet look on his face, similar to the one he had when wearing a blond wig pretending to be a Japanese princess. I can't help but giggle at him.

"I don't know, dude. I was planning on getting some rum." I say and now Kenny leans into me.

"But I think you'd like it better than booze. You get all loosey goosey, it's totally sugar-free and best part…" He shrewdly raises a finger. "…there's no hangover." He actually chirps. I'll give it to him, it was considerate to think about my diabetes.

"I'll think about it." I bid and Kenny pouts his lower lip. "But I'm pretty sure Douchebag and Cartman are totally up for it. Talk to them."

"Fine, I will. But no harm done. _You_ my friend, can always change your mind when it comes to your good old pal." He states the last part with his fist pounding lightly on his chest. Then he flashes a mesmerizing smile before leaving me, a bit stunned.

Kenny has really worked up his skills of charming since he came out of his shell several years ago, around fourth or fifth grade after the humans vs elves thing. We played that game for weeks before Clyde pretended to take over the world and we got into a "war" that caused several kids bruises, nose bleeds and getting grounded.

However, Kenny stopped covering his face and was not afraid of speaking clearly. He is really good-looking so nobody understood why he didn't ditch the hood earlier. The girls always voted him the cutest after Clyde's dad sold the shoe store. He's also probably been getting laid more than anyone else in sophomore year. The only problem, if you can call it that, is that he doesn't fit the frame of being a truly popular guy that the girls openly flirt with. Not much of a jock since he's as skinny as me, plus he's more developed on the artistic side. On several occasions I've spotted him doodle some really cool manga drawings in his text books. Some of them fitting into the hentai genre but none the less really well made.

The recess is only about ten minutes long and people start heading to the next class so I hurry to close my locker and walk to Spanish class. I do so alone since neither Cartman, Douchebag nor Kenny takes Spanish. But I know someone who does.

On my way to the classroom I hear running footsteps coming up behind me. A faintly panting person stops to walk beside me.

"Hey dude." Stan smiles. "Knowing any vocabulary words I can steal?"

"Yup, but it'll cost you." I smirk.

"All right then. I'll tell you something new." He announces and I notice a spreading smile being tied down in him.

"What, dude?"

"I… met a girl. She's from the Philippines, she's really sweet and she digs me." Stan says proudly, swinging his textbook in the air in front of him.

"Wow, Asian huh?" I know this was significant, Stan always had a thing for the Far East type, it got more prominent after he and Wendy broke up in seventh grade.

"Yeah, really cute. I can show you her picture if you want. You know, just so you can see I'm not lying." He says, I raise my eyebrows and nod. He reaches down the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out his black iPhone. I watch while he clicks and slides his thumb over the screen. "There, she's the one to the right." He holds the phone in front of my face. The screen shows an Instagram picture of two girls with long sleek dark hair, taking a selfie in a mirror. The right girl has her head tilted against her friend's and shows a pretty smile.

"Nice." I tell him, taking the phone into my own hand to observe the picture without it shaking, and then handing it back to him.

"Yeah, she's great." He looks dreamingly at the picture himself for a second before putting the phone back in his pocket. "It's just that she actually lives in the Philippines." He says looking down at his feet.

"Wait, what?" I exclaim shaking my head.

"We've only talked on Skype." He says, noticing my critical stare. "She's a friend of my buddy's girlfriend who lives in Denver. She's talked about visiting the US real soon." I'm being silent of a moment. I come to the conclusion not to criticize about having a cyber-relationship.

"That sounds awfully long in Skype-time." I state with sympathy as we enter the classroom which is already half full. It has two-seat tables and we sit down at one next to the wall. The table behind us is occupied by Clyde and his football team buddy from Greeley, I think his name is Jake or something John Doe-ish. Clyde is a good football player, but he's mostly admired for his looks. He has his hair cut in one of those styles where it's cropped on the sides and longer at the crown, pulled back with a hair product for sure. It would probably look a little Abercrombie & Fitch like if it wasn't for the fact that he always wore jersey shirts, sweat pants and other sports attire to inappropriate places outside the gym.

"Just don't tell people." Stan suddenly says a bit worried. "They'd think it's weird for sure, present company included." He starts coloring the big S with ink at the cover of his textbook.

"No! No, of course not. Things are always more complicated than they seem to the outside world." I plead diplomatically. I have to admit I feel rather pity for Stan. It takes a lot for him to sound hopeful about anything. He became very cynical in junior high when Wendy broke up with him and his parents got divorced for the third and final time. He and I kind of grew apart and things never really returned to as they were before. I mostly see Stan when all the guys from our old class get together.

Before I can think about something else comforting to tell him I feel a pen being tapped on my shoulder. I turn around to see Clyde leaning forward.

"Hey Kyle, you'll come tonight right?" He asks, relying on his crossed arms.

"Yeah, sure." I respond.

"Kay, nice." He casts a glance to the side. "Cartman said that you guys will be holding. Can we go in for fifteen each?" He directs his thumb against himself then at Jake who also looks up at me.

"Uh... I think it is Kenny you'll need to talk to." I stutter. _Damn Cartman,_ of course he was gonna take advantage of the situation and act like a second hand dealer.

"Well, could perhaps you talk to him? We've got football practice next period. I'll give you the money at lunch." Without waiting for my answer Clyde returns to his conversation with Jake.

"Dude. What was that about?" Stan asks, but knowing him I think he already figured it out. I sigh and shake my head.

"I won't tell about your thing if you won't mention this."

* * *

"**You fat ass!** You told Clyde that I was involved in your cartel?" I yell and smack Cartman at the back of his head. He turns around a bit stunned, rubbing his hand where I hit him and looks at me angrily. Then he harshly pushes me back at my chest.

"Keep your fucking voice down!" He scolds me. We are outside the cafeteria where he and Douchebag stood waiting for me. People walk past us but they don't turn their heads or anything. Cartman lets out a sigh and thinks for a while. "Kenny is too frickin' generous. He came to me and Douchebag and just offered to share it with us. He needs to exploit his opportunities. So I helped him out a bit." He explains with a shrug. I cross my arms over my chest.

"Then why don't you just pay him yourself if you're so god damn helpful?" I slur and Cartman rolls his eyes.

"Fuck _that!_ He offered it for free and I'm not arguing against that part. I mean, who are we to say no to a friend?" He smirks slyly and glances at Douchebag who responds with a grin. He stands leaned against the wall observing our dispute. Cartman turns back at me. "By the way, didn't Kenny offer to share with you as well?" I sigh and look away.

"Yes, but I'm not doing it." Cartman stuns for a second, either of genuine shock or just to emphasize the madness of my statement.

"Why the hell not?!" He shrieks with palms up.

"Yeah dude, it's free." Douchebag concur. If even he reacts then maybe it really is odd of me to refuse. But I will stand by my principles; Cartman isn't talking me into this one.

"I just won't. And weren't we gonna get wasted tonight?

Cartman grunts at my statement. "It is possible to do _both_." His voice is snide and the brown eyes glower upon me.

"Yeah, enhancing the bliss." Douchebag adds with a sinister sneer, making the same gesture with his thumb and index finger like Kenny did earlier. I snort automatically while Cartman chuckles at him.

"Whatever. We're having lunch or what?" I mutter a bit moody.

"Thought you'd never ask." Cartman exhales and head through the open cafeteria doors.


	2. The highest highs and the lowest lows

The three of us sit down with our purchased lunches and shortly afterwards, Wendy walks up to us with a tray in her hands. By her side stands a girl with ironed-flat hair and headband (similar to Wendy's own hairstyle), most likely from Greeley, whom she later introduces as Jasmine. Wendy asks if they can sit with us and we consent. I assume to myself that they've had some personal project worked on, therefore missing having lunch with the other girls. For old time's sake though, Wendy tends to have lunch with us occasionally, or lunch with me would be a proper way of saying it. She is in the other sophomore class and sitting with us, her old classmates, is definitely not considered lame.

We talk about school-related stuff before Cartman turn to the matter in hand.

"So are you going to Clyde's tonight?" He asks directed at Wendy. She pokes in her food.

"Well, we were invited but we're not sure." Typical girl answer. It's not like they were invited personally, but over Facebook like everyone else. However, if Wendy knew what will be going on later tonight, what even the host probably will partake in, I doubt she would even consider attending. She's far too wholesome for that stuff; I doubt that she even drinks. "But I guess a lot other people were going." She continues.

"Yup, we are." Cartman says a bit smug, scooping a fork of spaghetti into his mouth.

"_We_ are not a lot of people." I remark, swinging my fork in front of me referring to us three males at the table.

"Nope, but we _will_ contribute to a large crowd." Cartman retorts through his chewing, brushing his hands off against each other. "That's key."

* * *

After lunch when we return to our lockers Clyde comes up to me and hands over some crumpled bills. I decide not to make a fuss but put them in my bag, thinking I'll give it to Kenny later.

When the final class is over, Cartman, Douchebag and I take the bus into town to make our errands. Douchebag heads to U-stor-it to pick up our order he's been busy with over the phone all day, while I and Cartman go to the supermarket. I buy a two-liter bottle of coke zero and Cartman picks up four cans of red bull. He said he was gonna mix it with vodka. When we meet up again we help out carrying the load consisting of a bottle of Captain Morgan, one of cheap vodka and using the rest of my money combined with his own Douchebag ordered three packs of beer. That will probably keep us going.

We walk back to our neighborhood by foot, deciding to stash the hooch at Cartman's place since he claimed his mom would be out all evening anyway (no questions further asked). I felt relieved since carrying it home to my house would be out of the question due to my mom. She would rather live in the universe where she thought I did not drink at all.

While at it, we also decide to meet up at Cartman's house later for a pre-party.

"So we're not going to Clyde's right away?" I ask.

"No, Kahl. Because it will be totally lame the first hours. Most people won't arrive until later anyway and the ones being there early will just be sober and boring." Cartman explains, like he was about to take me to the first party of my life, which is not entirely true. But he hasn't been to all that many parties either. Freshman year had been pretty dull in that area. We mostly got together in a crew of only guys, drank beer stolen from various parents and played video games or online on our gathered computers.

When I finally arrive at home, there's about three leisure hours before it's time to head over to Cartman. I make sure to text Kenny about it. He answers that he'll snatch some beer from his dad and definitely be there. I keep it short with mom, saying there's gonna be a small crowd over at Clyde's and we'll probably not do much. I never mention the P word. She seems convinced due to my clean slate of keeping curfews and buys it all, admonishing me however to be home by midnight, like I was Cinderella or something.

As I've taken a shower and start to get dressed I receive a text from Kenny, he asks if he can come over to my place before going to Cartman's. 'I reply _sure dude, mi casa su casa. just don't talk to my mom'_. I throw my phone on my bed to button up my shirt, a gray one with epaulettes and rolled up sleeves. I've paired it with dark red slim jeans that I tend to wear when to look a bit dressier.

It takes Kenny only about ten minutes to ring my front door, there's just a short walk over the old railroad between our two houses. I reach the door before my mom does to invite him. He's wearing a light gray sleeveless hoodie over a white t-shirt with printing on it; picturing a girl dressed in sailor school uniform over the Japanese flag. He's not wearing a jacket.

"Hey dude, I'm almost ready. Just wait here." He nods and I sprint up to my room to fetch my cell phone, keys and the cash from both Clyde and myself (my money was going to Douchebag however). Then I return down to the hall where Kenny stand leaned against the wall and I put on my old boots and my wool coat. We leave my house and when we're on the sidewalk I put my hand down my jeans pocket to pull out the crumpled bills from Clyde and offer it to Kenny.

"This is from Clyde and Jake. They wanted to get in on it, you know." I say casually. Kenny looks confused for a second at the money before quickly coming to sense.

"Oh yeah! Right, Cartman said they came begging to get some." He sniggers and nabs the bills from my hand. I don't answer, not mentioning that it was Cartman who sold him out. I figure it's not my business, although I feel kinda bad over it.

Kenny realize that we've stopped in front of the next house and looks at me unwisely, as if not remembering who's house it is.

"We just have a small stop." I say smiling and walk up to the front door.

"Stan is coming too?" Kenny asks jogging up behind me.

"Sure he is. But…" I lean into him lowering my voice. "He won't try to get in on your goods." I reassure and Kenny smirks. I turn around to ring the doorbell. I texted Stan two hours ago asking if he wanted to join us at Cartman's since I knew he was attending to Clyde's party. I didn't tell Cartman about it however, thinking that I would arrive together with Stan since Cartman might act hostile against him coming uninvited to his house alone. Stan and Cartman don't really hang out at all anymore.

The door is opened by Randy dressed in his work shirt. Behind him the TV is on, showing a hockey game and some beer cans are scattered around the coffee table.

"Hi you fellas! You're going out for some mischief?"

Kenny and I glance over at each other. I wonder if Randy noticed the beer cans showing through the plastic bag Kenny is carrying. I clear my throat.

"We're here to pick up Stan, Mr. Marsh." I say calmly and Randy waves his hand in front of his face.

"Oh yeah, sure, sure! I'm just teasing." He turns around and walks up to the stairs. "**STAAAN**! Your friends are here! Stop putting on your makeup and get down here!" He looks back at us snickering. Kenny looks at his cell phone and I'm not sure where to look. Seconds later the sound of a door opening upstairs is heard and then Stan scampers down the stairs. He clutches a plastic bag to his side, as to hide it a little. He is dressed in a plain but well-fitting charcoal t-shirt with a black unbuttoned waistcoat over it. His dark hair slightly untidy like always.

"Get back to the game, dad." He sighs with huge annoyance. Randy holds up his hands defensively and saunters to the couch. Stan quickly puts on his jacket and shoes and hurries out the door before slamming it behind him, silencing his dad's farewell words "Stay out of trouble". The three of us head down to the sidewalk.

"Were you jacking off or something?" Kenny snickers.

"I was pouring White Russian into a water bottle." Stan retorts holding his plastic bag up a little.

"Fancy shit." Kenny snort.

"It's super-easy to make, just some vodka, Kahlua and lots of milk." Stan chirps and I find it funny that he actually brings a proper drink. Then it dawns on me that it may not be just an occasional thing for him. Last year he was busted for carrying a bottle of Jameson's in his locker. In fact he already seems merrier than usual.

We walk up to Cartman's front door and Kenny pounds it with his fist. "Open up, fat ass!"

The door is opened by Douchebag. He greets us all with a nod and steps aside to let us in. There's low dub step music playing in the background and Cartman is sitting on the couch in front of a paused game of Halo, taking a sip from a beer can. He puts the can down and cranes his neck when he sees us. "How's it going, losers."

"Suck my balls, Cartman." Kenny greets back and walks over to the couch after he's kicked off his dirty sneakers. Cartman peers over at us hanging up our jackets.

"And you brought over Marsh, nice to see you, man." He says unexpectedly friendly and Stan nods at him. A good start after all.

We all sit down in front of the TV; Cartman, Kenny and Douchebag on the couch and Stan join me on the floor. Cartman and Douchebag seem to be on their first beers and Kenny cracks one of his own cans open.

"Aww, you brought that swill with you!" Cartman squeals. Kenny takes a sip and raises the can in the air.

"Sure as hell! Pabst Blue Ribbon. Makes you go white trash with one sip!" He hails and throws his head back to take an even larger sip.

"_You_ need no beer to prove yourself as white trash, Kinny." Cartman scoffs.

"No… but you do!" Kenny shoots and brings the can to Cartman's lips. He instantly smacks Kenny's hand away, making him spill.

"**Get that fucking shit away from my face**!" Cartman roars and Kenny falls forward, cupping one hand under the can.

"You fuck! You made me spill the magic potion!" Kenny cries, but sounds very amused over Cartman's outbreak, as do Douchebag as he chokes on his beer at them. They seem to be forgetting about their gameplay.

"Give him a **royal kiss**, Kenny!" I wail with my hands cupped around my mouth. "**Gonorrhea outbreak!**" My voice almost dies out in laughter along with Stan and Douchebag. Kenny takes a second to get the reference but when it dawns upon him he falls back into the couch in rampant laughter. Cartman nips at the fabric on his own shoulders, straightening his shirt out while he glares at us. But then he joins in on the joke.

"I'll just fucking flame strike you all." He grunts and punches Kenny in his splayed stomach, to which he just bends over continuing to laugh.

"Jesus…" Stan wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "Go get your golf club, Kyle!" He whimpers and we both get a hard time to breathe from laughter.

"**Stop it, Kinny**!" Cartman suddenly yells. I turn around seeing Kenny leaning into him, making Cartman lean way out from the couch. Kenny tries to plant a kiss upon his cheek and Cartman stop him by pressing his large hand on Kenny's face, shoving him back. "That only works for _Princess Kenny_, now you're just being **gay**!"

"So it does it for you as long as he is **_dressed_ **as a princess?" Stan sniggers at Cartman who glares back at him.

"Fuck you." He mutters but the mood is too good to be brought down. Our laughter fills the room for a while, fading over into chuckles. Stan takes a long sip from his "water" bottle, makes a grimace and then directs his sincere gaze to Kenny.

"I just have one question, dude. Why did you dress up as a chick anyway?" He asks frankly. Cartman snorts.

"Isn't that a matter going without saying?" He chuckles, but Kenny just shrugs looking at his own beer can which he holds rotating between his hands.

"Just wanted to see what it's like to lure guys into deadly traps with my sexiness." He answers. I can't really tell by his sly grin if he's joking or not. Stan cocks his eyebrows pulling the corners of his mouth down then takes another sip while Cartman raises a skeptical eyebrow at Kenny's statement. Douchebag chuckles while covering his eyes with one hand.

"Yeah, like when we snuck into the school after hours and you flashed for the hall monitor that caught us." He sniggers looking at Kenny who purses his lips together nodding slowly.

"That sucker. I told him I'd give him a kiss if he let us pass unnoticed."

"Yeah, and you flashed him."

"_He_ fucking fell for it! It's not my fault someone can't tell the difference between bee stings and melons." He claims laughing and Douchebag tilts his head to the side with raised eyebrows as if to gesture _good point_. Stan growls from the alcohol after taking another sip and looks off into the distance.

"Those were the days." His voice is laced with a distinct tone of melancholy.

* * *

During the next twenty minutes, most of our attention is directed toward the Xbox. We take turns to play. When Cartman's turn runs out he rises from the couch "Screw this. I'm getting a real drink." He snorts before heading out to the kitchen. I contemplate on following his example; I'm the only one who hasn't had anything to drink yet. This slow start won't look good next to what I promised earlier this morning on the bus. So I get up from the floor and saunter to the kitchen.

Cartman has just put a glass on the counter as he walks over to the smaller counter by the entrance where the bag we carried earlier today is standing. He pulls out the bottle of vodka while catching the sight of me and then he opens the fridge to fetch a can of red bull.

"You're mixing up too, Jew?" He says glancing at me a bit expectantly while unscrewing the vodka bottle.

"Better late than never." I shrug and he grins.

"Your Morgan is over there as well." He nods at the plastic bag on the little counter. "Coke in the fridge." While he pours some vodka into his glass I grab the neck of my bottle through the bag and take it over to the counter at the other side of the sink. Cartman stands breaking the can open on the other side.

I accidentally brush my shoulder against his when I open the fridge and he quickly takes a step aside without saying anything. I drag out the heavy plastic bottle and drop it on the counter next to the rum. I hear the sizzling of soda being poured next to me as I try to remember which cupboard holds the glasses. I reach up to the one above the microwave but when I open it to only see plates and bowls Cartman clears his throat.

"No, the one to your left." He extorts and I open it, taking out a glass which looks like the one Cartman has.

When I place it next to the other two bottles I glance over at Cartman who stands turned around with his finished drink at hand, leaning against the counter and observes me. I'm not sure that I feel comfortable mixing a drink on my own with his eyes on me. He doesn't look like he's going to say anything, it just seems he's waiting for my next move. After hesitating a second I unscrew the cap of the coke and it makes a long hiss. When I lift it up to pour the liquid into the glass, Cartman interrupts.

"Booze first, Kahl." He gives me an ingenious look while taking a sip of his drink. I sigh and put the coke back down and unscrew the glass bottle instead. I tilt it above the glass, but stop before anything pours out. Then I turn to Cartman.

"What do you think is a good amount?" I ask and he smiles a bit smug, taking a step towards me.

"Three fingers." He says and when I look at him unwisely, he pinch his little finger down with his thumb and lays his other three fingers on top of each other along the counter next to the glass, as a measurement. "Since you're running behind." He grins and removes his hand.

I don't say anything back but pour the rum down the glass to the line where his index finger pointed. Cartman notes out that we'll need some ice when I fill the rest of my glass up with coke. He takes out an ice form from the freezer and breaks free some cubes onto the counter. He drops a handful into my glass, the cubes makes small cracking noises as the coke fizzes around them. After dropping some cubes into his own glass he brings it to mine and clink against it before bringing his own to his lips. I think for a second that this is the most friendly he's been acting toward me for a long time.

I taste my drink. It's pretty okay, not too strong. I took a liking for the blend in freshman year when I was offered by Craig to taste some at a gaming night. Since then I've wanted to try it again.

"That'll knock your socks off." Cartman says pointing with his glass at mine. I take a large sip, smack my tongue against the palate and exhale.

"We'll see."

* * *

During the next two hours I consume another two drinks and I feel _good_, almost lighter. We play several games and chat in between. The guys pour down beer after beer and we barely keep track of time. The music volume is raised and we gladly get worked up. Around a quarter to ten we decide to start gather our stuff and put on our jackets. We leave Cartman's house and begin the five-minute walk to the Donovan residence. Although it takes us a bit longer since Stan and Kenny are very tipsy. They talk to each other with loud voices and shift between walking on the pavement, out in the road and over people's lawns.

When we reach the brown house there is no doubt that the party is on. Muffled music streams out down to the street where some people stand smoking in a small group. We walk up to the door and step inside without knocking. Cartman was right for once, the atmosphere seems to be everything else than boring. There are about fifteen people in the living room, most of them sitting on the couch, at the dining table or standing around carrying lively conversations. The tables are scattered with glasses, plastic cups, half empty bottles and cans of various brands. The music is set at a high volume playing Daft Punk's "Get Lucky" which seems a bit trite. Three girls from my class are standing in front of the stereo moving to the music without really dancing while two guys occupy themselves with the laptop plugged to the speakers.

The closet is overflowing with jackets and out of free hooks and hangers so we just toss our own jackets on top of the others on the floor. Cartman says we should put away our stuff to cool in the kitchen so we walk across the living room. At the couch we see Tweek and Token sitting talking to each other. When they see us they shout to greet us without getting up, although Douchebag and Kenny walk over to them exchanging handshakes combined with bro hugs.

In the kitchen we see many familiar faces including Clyde's, Craig's, Jason's and a bunch of girls. Most them are seated around the counter in the middle of the room, among them is Wendy, plumped upon a high chair with a glass of white wine in front of her. With her hand on the foot of the glass, I assume it's hers; there goes my assumptions of her being a teetotaler. She looks with moderate interest at a jabbering Craig. Her dark brown hair is ironed smooth and she's wearing a navy dress with cropped sleeves. Combined with the wine she appears very sophisticated and grown up.

Clyde immediately notices us coming in and he steps forward with outreached arms to greet Cartman and Kenny. He gives me and Stan each a pat on the shoulder. I guess Cartman and Kenny have higher party value tonight than Stan and I for obvious reasons.

"Good luck finding any room in the fridge!" Clyde chuckles and opens it for us, taking out a Smirnoff Ice for himself. He is not joking; we need to shift stuff around to make room for Douchebag's and Kenny's beer cans. Cartman even takes out other people's refreshments and put them on the counter to make room for his own vodka bottle and two red bull cans. There's absolutely no doubt that my Captain Morgan and two liter coke won't fit so I put them on the counter, figuring that I'll be able to drink it anyway. As the guys get one beer each Cartman mix himself another drink, pouring vodka straight into the red bull can. I should lay low, since feeling the buzz have taken hold of me. But at least I want something to hold in my hands so I grab the cleanest looking glass I can find on the counter, something I would never do at a sober stage, and start mixing. I can suddenly feel Cartman breathing into my ear.

"Remember Kahl, three fingers." He whispers before walking over to the others around the counter, he starts chatting with Clyde and Kenny. Stan and Douchebag seems to have went for the living room.

With old faithful at hand I decide to socialize and walk up to Wendy since she doesn't seem all that occupied by anyone. When I approach her she catches my gaze.

"So you made it." I initiate with a faint smile, she returns the smile nodding and slides her finger along the outer line of the glass.

"Yes, the girls kind of dragged me into it." She replies with a somewhat apathetic look on her face. Once again I contemplate her appearance and think to myself that she doesn't exactly look unwillingly dragged into anything.

"Well, it seems like a great turnout." I say taking a sip of my drink. _Damn it_, I yell in my head, I was planning on taking it easy on the alcohol from now on but the sip comes automatically.

"Yeah... What are you drinking?" She asks nodding at my sip.

"Rum and coke." I grin. "And wine for you I see."

"Bebe offered me a glass." Wendy says in an almost excusing way.

"I guess people become generous." I say, hoping I haven't offended her by implying that she's a freeloader. But she laughs at my statement.

"Yes I know. People do a lot of stuff under the influence of alcohol that they would never regularly do." She states, but not in a joking way but more like she was submitting an argument for a debate. "Who are you here with?"

"The guys. I mean, Cartman, Kenny, Stan and Douchebag." I say and imitatively take another sip when I see her do the same.

Wendy frowns for a second. "Dovakiin?"

"Right."

She nods wisely. I was surprised to hear her calling Douchebag by his real name, although I don't think she is interested in him in that way. I guess she is just being conventional. I notice that Cartman is glancing at us, especially at me, bet he is wondering why I chose to speak with Wendy of all the people in the room. Thankfully I see Stan coming up stealing Cartman's attention, probably asking if he can get a beer from us and after he has fetched one from the fridge he comes up to me and Wendy. They casually say hi to each other. There's hardly any tension between them since their brake up took place several years ago and since then they've been in the same class seeing each other dating other people.

"How are you handling it, dude?" Stan asks me pointing at my drink.

"Stable, dude. I should ask you the same." I point out since he clearly has finished his water bottle. Stan closes his eyes and shrug, slightly exaggerative, even swaying a bit. I don't think he'd usually do that in front of Wendy. She observes him with a blank face. If she was Cartman, this would be the time she'd prove her point.

Then Stan suddenly yanks at my arm and drags me away. I give Wendy an excused look but she just rolls her eyes, bringing the wine glass to her lips. Stan drags me over to Cartman and Kenny although turning his back against them to talk to me "privately". Cartman however seems intrigued by the secrecy as he glances at us without Stan noticing.

"I got a call from her. You know, the girl I was talking about." He says, a bit louder than I think he intended to. Right, how could I forget? I nod.

"Well, she told me that she will move to her friend in Denver at the year-end, for like six months as some exchange student thing. How fucking sick is that! I mean, in an awesome way! Maybe it sounds insane, but I think that I was a big part of her decision-making." He beams with such a cheerful face I haven't seen on him in years.

"Of course, you were probably a huge part of it. Why else would someone move a distance between the Philippines and the US?" I say convincingly. Stan snorts, although he seems happy about my statement.

"There could be many things."

"Raking in some fish from the Pacific are we?" Cartman suddenly exclaims fully turned to us. I realize that he probably heard every word. He gives Stan a nudge at his back which makes him stumble forward. "Seriously dude, you have a girlfriend across the sea?" He seems genuinely interested, but Stan keeps his guard.

"We're not together, just talking." Stan mutters, clearly wanting to keep Cartman out of it. But it's too late. Cartman is firing up.

"Seems like there's more going on if she's leaving the fish market to come here for you." He first speaks in a friendly tone. But then he takes a sip from his drink and grunts. "If I was you however, I'd make sure that she's not hiding a dick. You can never be too sure about those Asian lady boys." Cartman goes on and Stan's eyes narrow.

"She's **_not_ **a lady boy." He spits.

"What makes you so sure? You can't tell by a mere glance, they hide it very well." Cartman jeers.

"Seriously Cartman, shut the fuck up!" Stan hiss at him.

"What? I'm just being a good friend warning you before you wake up next to a pair of boobs and balls!" Cartman sniggers while gesturing at his own chest and crotch.

"**Go fuck yourself!**" Stan yells before walking away. By now Cartman is laughing out loud.

"Or maybe you're into that stuff. **We won't judge you, man!**" He calls out after Stan as he leaves the kitchen.

Cartman is trembling from laughter and Kenny also snickers at Stan's outbreak. Everybody else around briefly turn their heads at the raised voices but in short time they resume to their conversations. Cartman whimper and wipes away a tear from his eye. Then he notices my cold gaze on him and his smile quickly fades away in an irritated glare. He turns around in his chair avoiding my stare. Kenny looks at me briefly before doing the same.

"Geez, that guy can't handle a joke." Cartman mutters at Clyde who snorts, taking a sip from his Smirnoff.

I simply can't believe Cartman just attacked Stan with all those taunts, it's like we were all back in elementary school. I can't bring myself to stay in the room but pour the rest of my drink down my throat before slamming down the empty glass on the counter between Cartman and Kenny. Then I head out of the kitchen to go look for Stan.


	3. We will never ever come down

I enter the loud living room just in time to find Stan by the jacket pile tying his shoes. I hurry up to him.

"Dude, you're leaving?" I ask although I'm not sure he can hear me over the music. He notices me while he grabs his jacket from the pile.

"I'm going, see you at school." He shouts before walking out the door without even putting his jacket on. With the swift spell of alcohol in my body I quickly grab my boots and launch out the same door. I stop on the stairs outside to hastily pull the boots on while shouting at Stan who marches across the lawn toward the sidewalk.

"Dude, wait!" Stan stops and turns around, perhaps of the thought that I'll leave the party too. I run up to him. "Don't leave just because of him." I attempt, trying to think of something more to say. But Stan just shakes his head.

"I'm not up for staying. I'd rather call it a night." He looks away into the distance. "I'll not have that fat fuck bring down my mood, I got really excited by the news and he ruined it." His words slur a bit from the alcohol.

"Why did you even get so offended? It's Cartman. It wasn't exactly personal." I say and Stan glares at me.

"Except he did make it personal. You wouldn't understand. You haven't even had a girlfriend, Kyle. Or maybe you're just immune to Cartman's shit by now. I don't even get why you're defending him." Stan says growing more offensive towards me. He actually stuns me for a moment.

"I'm… not defending him." I stutter tongue-tied. Stan looks at me for a long moment.

"Right. Have a nice night." He states before turning around and walks away. I don't come after him this time but stand frozen to the ground, watching him disappearing behind the fence and bushes. I turn on my heel and head back inside.

In the living room more people have begun dancing so I take a seat at the couch. Nobody seems awkward anymore, but people are moving around mindlessly with merry faces.

The song comes to an end and somebody yells "Play Funky Vodka!" at Token who is operating Spotify on the laptop. He clicks around a bit before an uplifting beat flows out through the speakers. A jolt goes through the dancing crowd as they start jumping up and down with hands in the air. I'm not very fond of house music, like, I don't sit around listening to it at home and I especially don't enjoy dancing to it. But the song is quite catchy and it seems my body doesn't want to be still. I feel like I've been drinking loads of coffee; my left knee is jumping up and down.

Cartman and Kenny are coming out from the kitchen followed by Clyde and Craig. They howl to the music and scamper over to the dance floor. Cartman however comes over to the couch and waves his hand in front of the girl beside me, gesturing her to move over. She does so with an unfriendly look and he plumps down in between us. He leans back and puts his arm on the backrest of my seat. I glance at him curiously as he leans in yelling into my ear.

"Why so blue, Kahl?!" I can neither smell nor hear his drunkenness through my own.

I shrug loosely and yell back into his ear. I can catch the scent of his hair.

"I don't dance!"

The music calms down for the song's intermission. Kenny comes over and motions us to rise. Cartman looks at me. He doesn't need to yell this time to make himself heard.

"Yes you are." He grabs my arm and jerks me onto my feet before dragging me over to Kenny. They start bouncing to the up-working beat, pumping their fists in the air. Kenny tosses his hair, he seems totally ecstatic. I'm not sure how it does it, but the beat grabs my muscles to work with it and all the hairs on my back rise in a rush up my spine as the beat drops. _Fuck yeah_.

The room is filled with deafening howls and our feet pound against the floor along with the base. Kenny puts his arm around my shoulders and we bounce together, our fists pumping at the ceiling. We must look ridiculous, but I don't care. There's so much energy flowing through me and I have to let it all out, nothing else exists except us and the music.

The song fades over to another one with a much harder beat. I have let go of Kenny and imitate his movements by tossing my head about, fiercely pounding my foot against the floor. I notice Cartman is observing me with an amused face. I scamp over behind his back and put my hands on his shoulders. I jump off the floor pulling myself onto his back and attach my legs on either side of his hips. He wobbles a bit unprepared but straightens up and lock fast my legs with his arms as I swing my hand high in the air. I can actually touch the ceiling. People start cheering around us, including Kenny who tries to jump higher as if to reach the same height as me. Cartman starts spinning us around and at first my heart stops as I instantly grip onto his broad shoulders, but as I get caught up by the speed I let both of my arms free above my head. Another beat drop is built up as the lyrics fill the room.

_I don't ever wanna wake up.  
I don't ever wanna be that way.  
I don't ever wanna wake up.  
I don't ever wanna come back down!_

Ironically, Cartman lets go of my legs when the beat drops and I slide down his back. Feeling my hands going down along his thick arms, my legs slipping against his thighs, the fabric of our clothes rubbing, all this lasting only for a second, it makes me warm.

As I bounce about on my own feet somebody suddenly approach next to me. I feel the smothering smell of girl perfume and a hand on my shoulder, turning me face to face with Bebe. She smiles at me seductively and moves her body very close to mine. Putting another hand on my other shoulder she presses her chest against mine moving a bit slower than the music, making my hips roll along with hers. Her skin-tight jeans rub against mine. She then turns her back at me, though still pressed against my body. She takes my hands and places them on her hips. Her bleached blond hair tickles my nose. It smells heavily of that perfume of hers. All along as she moves to the music she presses her ass against my crotch and her hand seeks its way up my curly hair. _Dude_.

The song is erupted by a much lighter pop song and all the girls in the room shrieks. As the whimpering tones of Justin Timberlake flows through the speakers all the guys slouch down grumbling. "Queue that shit!" Craig yells at the two girls giggling by the laptop. Without a word I let my hands go off Bebe's hips and leave the dance floor like most of the other guys. Kenny however has taken the chance by grabbing a very drunk Sally Darson who grinds up against him like Bebe just did to me. "**This** is nostalgic!" Some chick shouts as all the girls dance in a large group, singing along. _Don't be so quick to walk away, dance with me, I wanna rock your body, please stay!_

I feel a bit exhausted, stepping down from my euphoric state and decide to take a piss, if for no other reason to escape the terrible song. I run up the stairs and down to the end of the hallway. Since most people were down on the dance floor the bathroom is actually vacant.

Being inside the quiet little space with bright lighting I am able to sense the level of my drunkenness. As I bend over washing my hands I can barely keep my upper body from swaying back and forth. Even my mirror image looks drunk, blood-shot eyes half closed as they stare up from a lowered head. I frown at myself as if there was another person standing there. Suddenly I start to feel an aching inside my stomach, like the signal of constipation. After all, I haven't eaten anything for five hours and all the coke I've been drinking doesn't exactly do nice things to an empty stomach.

Feeling as if I could lie down on the floor and close my eyes here and now, I walk out to the hallway and open the nearest door. It seems to be Clyde's dad's bedroom and on the double bed two girls sits in a deep conversation. Both of them instantly look aggravated at me simultaneously yelling "**Close the door!**" I wince and slam it shut. _Fucking tattletales_, I think angrily from the slight chock. I drag myself over to the next door, setting it ajar and to my relief discovering that the room is dark and quiet. After sneaking inside I carefully close the door behind me and fall flat onto Clyde's bed.

The feeling of lying down at this drunken state is absolute heaven. My muscles are fully relaxed thanks to the alcohol and it feels like I'm lying on a boat deck, bobbing on the waves. I get the feeling of being completely idle while everything else outside is speeding at its fast pace. The muffled music from below, feet running in the stairs, the distant voices and howls, everything blends together in a remote mumble as I block it out behind my closed eyes.

_I got more excited from accidentally rubbing against Cartman for a second than sensually rubbing against Bebe for several minutes!_ Out of nowhere the thought hits me and I open my eyes in a sudden moment of clarity. _What the fuck is happening?_ The G word instantly pops into my mind and I rub my eyes with my palms. I've always considered myself to be bisexual, but more as a fact from believing that all people have it in them. I have never actually looked at another guy in _that_ way. Then again, not a girl either... And Cartman! That is the other sick thing. We've grown as friends since the past year but how can it lead to _this_. No, it can't. It didn't happen, I didn't feel anything. I can live with the fact of being able to get off over another guy, but just_ not him_.

My mind is so preoccupied that I don't acknowledge the many feet running up the stairs outside. Instead I'm pulled out of my darkness as the bedroom door is flung open and the light is being switched on. I jolt to a sitting position covering my eyes with my arm.

"Oh, were you in here." Clyde says a bit perplexed. I wonder if he's pissed about seeing me lying on his bed but he just walks over to his desk without saying anything else to me. Entering the room after him is Jake, Cartman, Kenny and Douchebag. Everyone except Jake glances at me with the same countenance. Jake heads over to Clyde beside the desk and Douchebag sits down next to me on the bed. Kenny takes out a small round object from his back pocket as he also makes his way to the desk.

"I need some room." He says waving his hand in front of Clyde who instantly gets up, giving the chair to Kenny. Clyde looks at Cartman.

"Guard the door." He says pointing at him. Cartman folds his arms and leans back against the closed door.

Kenny has pulled out a small plastic bag and dabs the green contents into the round thing which looks like a small box. He tosses the bag on the desk and puts the lid on the box, then sort of screws the two parts together. Jake picks up the plastic bag to smell its contents and Clyde carefully observes Kenny.

Douchebag gives me a nudge on my arm. "Were you taking a nap or something?" He asks with a grin. I snigger back at him without replying. I toss a quick glance at Cartman who looks down at his feet. My eyes seem to burn of shame for looking at him so I instantly return to follow Kenny's work. He looks up from the box.

"Yo Douche, you got the cigarettes?" He asks with a serious look on his face. Douchebag reach down his jeans pocket and fish out a slightly crumpled pack before hurling it across the room. It hits the wall above the desk and lands on top of it. Kenny takes out one of the cigarettes, tears its paper open and shakes the tobacco into the box, then blends it together. _Oh_.

Since I've never watched this type of procedure before I can't help but curiously observe its every step. I wonder if it's very obvious that it is my first time seeing it, Douchebag and Cartman seems being able to keep their cool looking at their phones or somewhere else. Clyde and Jake however watch Kenny with great interest. Though I find it hard to believe this is also their first time so I come to the conclusion that they want to examine what their money paid for.

Kenny has brought out two additional packages, small enough to fit in one's palm, from his magic pockets. He turns his back at us to the desk. A minute or two later he turns around holding up a finished joint, inspecting it proudly.

"Let's go get Chinese eyes then." He says cunningly before collecting his stuff while the rest of us leave Clyde's room. I follow them downstairs to the music-filled hall. I glance back at Kenny who is adjusting the stuff his pockets a bit fishy.

I wonder to myself if it looks suspicious that all of us are heading out at the same time. The guys don't seem to acknowledge this themselves though, doing their jackets and pulling feet through their sneakers. Besides, the other people in the living room are really hooked up in their own atmosphere. They've gone back to playing house music but less people are dancing, and they appear quite wasted to put it mildly. One guy is jumping about shaking his head violently; it looks stupid even through my own drunkenness. By the over-cluttered dining table Token is sunken down in front of the laptop, some guy with a side-turned snapback is leaning over him talking while drunkenly swaying. And at the couch I see Bebe cross-legged leaning back with Sally Darson's sleeping head on her shoulder. Bebe is speaking with Craig who is seated next to her in the dark brown leather armchair.

When Bebe catches my glance I notice her smiling through the dim lights before quickly looking down at her phone. Her glance probably made Craig notice us as well. He gets up and comes over to Clyde, saying something indistinctively to him. Clyde nods.

All dressed, we leave Clyde's house stepping out into the biting cold and eerie night. As Clyde leads the way with Craig behind him, we cross the street and sneak past the house across it. At the back of the yard we need to step over a fence to reach the coppice. We go one by one and Kenny stumbles a bit from having a thread from his torn jeans getting stuck in the fence. Cartman snickers at his clumsiness.

"Watch out for the poor boy getting his ripped clothes stuck!" He shouts still laughing. Kenny flips him the bird.

"Calm down fatso, remember Kenny is the one holding." Craig scolds him. Kenny comes up to Craig and puts his arm around his shoulders.

"I'm so glad you enjoy my company, Craigster." He chirps while lightly shaking Craig in his grip. Craig stumbles a bit before mildly amused shoving Kenny away from him.

The winding trail leads us to a very small clearing where Clyde stops and waits up for the rest of us. Kenny still teases Craig while finally Jake and Douchebag join our circle. Cartman punches Kenny in the arm to make him stop bothering Craig and pick up the reason why we're all gathered out in the woods in the middle of the night.

Kenny fumbles around a bit in the dark while muttering. "I can't see fucking shit."

Craig comes to service by lighting up Kenny's hands with his bright phone screen.

"Thanks man." Kenny sighs while bringing out the joint from his jeans pocket. "Light." He reaches his hand out to Douchebag who steps toward him, pressing a small black lighter in his palm.

"Gee, we'll have to do everything for you." Cartman mutters.

"It's the least you _can_ do." Kenny retorts while lighting the twisted end of the joint. _Did he just put Cartman in his place?_ Because he is actually completely right, it _is_ the least we can do for him who generously shares his stuff with us in exchange of almost nothing.

Kenny takes a puff and holds his breath for several seconds before blowing out the smoke. He then hands it over to Cartman who pinch it between his index and middle finger before puffing lightly, holding it in and exhales while passing the joint to Douchebag. It's going counter clockwise.

It dawns on me that I'm next after Douchebag and I start to fidget while he takes his puff. Like all my earlier protests being forgotten he holds the joint up for me. I grab the very thin filter between my thumb and index finger. I consider passing it over to Jake. But instead I slowly bring it to my lips. I inhale the smoke like on a cigarette; it makes my lungs wrench and send up a huge cough. _Fuck._ I decide to take another puff to calm it down before handing the joint to Jake. This time I do like the others and hold in the smoke a few seconds before exhaling. I expect some immediate effect like seeing stuff and hearing music, but nothing. I'm still just feeling drunk.

The joint goes around in the circle and comes back to me. I inhale the same amount as before. On the third turn my legs start to feel incredibly weak and my head becomes light. I plump down with my ass onto the cold ground resting my elbows on my knees. Douchebag asks if I want another hit, I concur and take a very light puff. The joint has now almost burned into the filter and I nearly scorch my fingertips. However, the guys seem reluctant to make anything go to waste. The joint finish its turn as Kenny press it into the dirt.

I persistently tell myself that I can't feel any effect, at least not the one I was expecting. The guys decide to head back and Cartman gestures me to get off the ground. I tell him I don't want to, and I really don't. Just the thought of standing up on my legs feels incredibly adverse. As the other guys walks away from us I swallow and ask Cartman to help me get up. He grabs my arm with both of his hands and yanks me onto my feet. _Geez, I can barely stand._ Standing in the same spot I mutter faintly.

"Could I… hold onto you as we…"

Cartman sighs and takes my arm around his shoulders and we falter along the bumpy trail lagging behind the others. It feels like it takes forever to get out of the coppice and all along I'm fighting against the numbing cloud taking over my head. I can hear Cartman saying something to me but my brain isn't catching the sentence and I just grunt back.

Back at the fence Cartman steps over it first while still holding me up, then he stops to let me take the two steps over. Moving twitchingly I lift my one leg and set it on the other side. But as I'm about to lift the other one somehow I cannot move, or at least I cannot feel my body. It feels like the blood flow to my brain is being cut out. I'm pretty sure that I'm dreaming.

I lay rested in void, so glad the painful experience is over. My senses can only appreciate the dark calm as my head is free from any thoughts. Although I don't think I have a head, I don't even have a body. Only my mind floats about in the darkness.

Soon enough I feel the heaviness of my body getting closer. Distant murmurs sting in my ears. When I can feel my body again it's being roughly rocked. My feet are not on the ground; in fact I'm horizontally above it. I can see Douchebag's face appearing in front of me. He is holding onto my legs while walking backwards. I detect that I'm being held up in my arms. Some words that I can roughly perceive are being uttered as my feet are dropped to the ground. I regain some sort of strength and make myself stand upright. I place one hand on my forehead which feels alarmingly cold. Douchebag puts his face in front of mine as to gain my attention.

"Dude, you were completely out for a while. Your face is all white." He smirks a bit.

I take a look around. They've carried me a bit further down the lane from the house we snuck past. Obviously it would not have been wise to carry me back to Clyde's house and scare the shit out of people.

"Did I really faint?" I mutter with a raspy voice.

"Yeah, you got us a bit scared. How are you feeling now?" Douchebag asks tilting his head to the side. I shrug.

"Better. I think I can walk." Looking back I see as expected that it was Cartman who was carrying me by my arms. He's standing with his hands in his pockets and holds a blank face.

"So, what do you wanna do? Head back to the party or…" Douchebag asks, cutting the sentence off with a shrug. I take a deep sigh.

"I should probably head home... But it's so far away."

Douchebag looks at me skeptically. "It isn't that far."

"No, I mean, it is for me." I'm not sure that made any sense. I hate sounding so needy but the thought of walking home alone at this state makes me uneasy. Douchebag folds his arms and looks off into the distance. His eyes surely appear with a reddish hint.

"Well… I guess I could walk you home… before going back." He suggests, the last part directed at Cartman.

"No I can take him." Cartman suddenly drops. "I think I'll head home too anyways."

Douchebag first looks at him a bit surprised. "You sure?" Cartman makes a tired shrug.

Pulling the corners of his mouth down, Douchebag nods. "All right. Well I guess I'll see you tomorrow or at school." He seems a bit relieved to be getting back to the party. Cartman gives him a quick bro hug. "Easy trippin'." Douchebag snigger at him. Next he gives me a pat on the shoulder. "Get well, bra." And before we know it he jogs away towards Clyde's house.

Without exchanging any words Cartman and I start hiking down the road together. I consider thanking him but we just walk in silence. My coat is open since the alcohol was warming enough when we left Clyde's house and my jeans are slightly damp. Supposedly from the fall I took. After a couple of houses we reach the crossing by the bus stop. Cartman asks me if I'm doing fine, I nod despite the fact I'll give anything to lie down. "I guess. What time is it?"

Cartman pulls out his cell phone. "Half past eleven."

At least I've got _some_ luck tonight.

"Good, I need to be home soon."

Cartman sniggers at me. "I would definitely not go home like this if I were you… with your eyes redder than your stupid hair." He snorts.

_Fuck, _I didn't take that to mind. "Well, where else should I go then?" I exclaim dejected.

Cartman shrugs. "Not my problem. It's your own fault getting high before walking home to your bitching mom." He states matter-of-factly. I feel myself growing irritated, although I know he's right.

"You were the one offering to walk me home, fat ass!"

"Yeah, because I was going home _myself_. I'm not tucking you into bed or anything." His casual tone gets me on my nerves. I grind my teeth as we walk under another silence. After a while we approach Butter's house were all lights are already out. It is safe to say that Butters wasn't allowed to go to the party, probably grounded as usual.

"But I guess if you want to avoid your bitch mom you could crash at my place." Cartman pauses without looking at me. "It's your choice though."

I scoff at him. "Of course it's my choice. It's not an order is it."

He shrugs. "I could order you to if you want." I glare at him but he is persisting not to meet my gaze.

Although I want my own bed more than anything, Cartman is right about my mom. Not about her being a bitch but she will definitely catch my drunkenness and red eyes, only a fool wouldn't. I feel trapped in my decision.

"Can I crash at your place?" I ask clenching my fists while we approach Cartman's green house.

He finally looks at me with arched brows, and then he lets through a sly grin. "You can take the couch. It's probably very comfy with Kenny's old beer spilled over it." I swear, only Cartman can take his own misfortune and turn it into mine. He seems to be waiting for an answer.

"Fine, whatever." I snort and walk behind him up to his front door.

Cartman fish out his keys and unlocks the door. He steps inside before me and turns the lights on. The indoor warmth sweeps around me like a blanket and I feel like lying down on the floor in my outerwear. Resisting that urge I remove my coat and kick off my boots.

As Cartman heads to the kitchen I take my seat on the couch and allow myself to fall down on my back. It's actually not damp at all from the beer. The scent of it lingers a bit though. I can feel myself falling into a dreamy state, lying completely still. I don't pay any attention to the sounds going on from inside the kitchen. I definitely feel the effects of the weed, however not quite what I expected. I thought it would make me feel moderately relaxed and extroverted, but not paralyzed like I do now.

Somehow my brain is being able to have a clear moment when Cartman returns. "I'm hungry as fuck so I'm warming up a pizza." He approaches the couch and lifts my back up to make room for himself. I fall back again with my head on his lap. "Do you mind?" He grunts waving a hand in front of my face.

"Screw you. You offered me the couch." I grumble, putting my arm over my eyes.

"It's _my_ couch, in _my_ house. You do as you're told, **Jew rat!**" He scolds sternly and pushes me up again. I sit up and put my elbow on the armrest, resting my head in the palm of my hand. It's not remotely as comfortable as lying down.

"Fuck you… fat ass." I mumble, my imagination running low.

Cartman decides to put on a movie and I watch him stumble over to the MacBook on the dining table, we used it for playing music earlier at our pre-party. He unplugs it from the speakers and takes it back with him to the couch.

"When did you get that?" I'd meant to ask him that earlier.

"Couple of weeks ago. It's my mom's though, but I use it all the time. She doesn't know crap about computers." He chuckles.

I snort concurring. "Yeah, mine neither. She always demands that me and Ike help her post lame pictures on Facebook and just flips out when she doesn't understand how to tag people and shit." Cartman smiles at my statement while looking at the screen, like he can relate to that. "Parents are stupid." I mutter while pulling my feet up Indian style.

"Not mine." Cartman snickers. "I convinced her to buy me an iPhone 6 to go with this piece. Told her some shit about it would be easier to connect and stuff. I will get it next week." He smiles.

"Sounds expensive for your mom." I remark with raised eyebrows, not realizing until Cartman glares at me that my statement may be misinterpreted into a terrible insult. I'm all in for insulting Cartman, but embarking on his mother is just weak. My mouth gapes a bit as I search for words. "I mean… you're spoiled."

"_Kaahl_." Cartman cunningly draws out on my name. "Your dad may be a fancy Jewish lawyer. But _my_ mom can bring in more bucks in _one night_ than your whole family could if she wanted to. Think about that the next time you insult her occupation." He exclaims before turning back to the screen, typing in Netflix's web page. I can't tell if he is offended or just wants to brag. Since he isn't sniggering at me I guess it was a bit of both.

"I… wasn't insulting her." I stutter.

"Right, and you never have." Cartman retorts. A million answers rush to mind but they all get stuck in the door, so I say nothing, staring at the turned-off TV. A silence is lingering as he clicks around on the computer and I try to think of something to say.

"How much does she make?" It was probably not the smartest thing of me to ask but it just slipped out past the screwed up border control in my brain. Cartman glances at me suspiciously and I shrug. "I'm just curious." He turns his gaze back to the screen and holds his answer for a moment.

"About two hundred bucks for a regular half hour thing, usually. Two grand for an entire night." He casually states as if repeating a standardized phrase.

My chin drops. I had no idea turning tricks could be so well-paid. When we were kids we used to make fun of Cartman's mom being a crack whore for the strange-looking utensils in her bed room. Not until now I realize how unreasonable it would be to compare the outwardly wholesome Ms. Cartman with some streetwalker at an alley. After all, Cartman lived in a house as big as mine. Both he and I have only one parent working, but despite only one of them having a degree, it is quite possible that their incomes didn't differ as much as one would think.

"Dude…" I manage to state in astonishment. Cartman clears his throat.

"Yeah, the escort business may be a bitter one." _Escort, _I guess that's a neat word for it. "But it brings in the green. Just ask Kenny about it." Cartman says with an insidious smirk.

"Dude, what?" I deliriously look at him. He slowly turns his tilted head looking back at me with a cocked eyebrow.

"Seriously Kahl? Where do you think he got that much weed from?" He shakes his head. "The kid is poor a fuck, he'll do many dirty things for some nickels and a trip to happy land."

"Um… yeah but I didn't think he would…" I stutter before Cartman interrupts me with a huge smirk.

"You bet your sweet Jew-ass he would! Kenny is fucking bi as the pot-smoking hippie he is."

"He does guys too!?"

"Duh. Chicks don't pay for fucking."

I try to take in all the information that is thrown at me. "And why would he reveal that stuff to you?" I realize that this sounds a little hurtful but I didn't think Cartman stood that close to Kenny.

"_Because_ he thought that I could relate to his situation, that I wouldn't judge him."

I look at Cartman skeptically. "Yeah you sound really non-judgmental about his situation." I say dripping with sarcasm, making Cartman roll his eyes.

"I don't judge him. I just try telling him to be more persistent and raise his price. He could… earn a lot better. But he's just too desperate sometimes." Cartman seems to have forgotten about the choosing of film and just stares at the computer without clicking anything, his sobering face enlightened by the screen. He looks a lot like Liane, especially around the eyes; sharp thick eyebrows framing light brown cat-like gazes. Cartman has a rounder nose though, and narrower lips.

I fumble a bit with the button holding up my shirt sleeve.

"Have you… ever exploited Kenny's services?" I ask carefully glancing over at him. Cartman looks at me surprised. First he appears like that for a moment. Then his sharp eyebrows lower and the corner of his mouth twitch before breaking out into a sinister grin.

* * *

**_A/N: Fun fact, the pot-smoking sequence is heavily inspired by my own experience of firing up for the first time. It's a bitch. And I thought little lightweight Kyle would suffer the same fate._**

**_Oh, and personally I don't hate the Justin Timberlake song, it fucking rocks! Reminding about Butters shaking it in nighty and bunny slippers, right!_**


	4. Make you bend and brake

My eyes widen as I make a loud exclaim punching Cartman in his shoulder. "**No!**"

Cartman laughs hysterically. "No, man…" He states gasping for his breath. "No I haven't. Trust me… I wouldn't get near him. He probably has every STD thinkable." He drags a hand through his light brown hair.

"Wow dude, thought your first reaction would be thinking that was **_gay._**" I remark in triumph. Cartman gives me a quick tense look before regaining a relaxed one.

"And what do you have against gay people, Kahl? There's nothing wrong about their orientation. I would think that _you_ know that." His exaggerated tone makes me giving up in confusion.

"All right, are you hinting that I'm gay or a liberal hippie? Cause you're making no sense." I sigh and rest my head in my hand again. I know he's just playing games with me but maybe I've lost the spark. Without looking at me he shrugs.

"You may be a little of both, Jew." He says casually while typing in another web page.

"Oh yeah, cause I'm really coming onto you, lard tub. Don't flatter yourself so much." I drop sarcastically.

"Not _me,_ but someone you _didn't_ come on to was Bebe Stevens." Cartman remarks while smiling for himself, probably looking at me from the corner of his eye. Now he's playing that game again. I'm not sure how to react, I even have to rewind my memory to understand what he's talking about.

"At the party? Uh, I think she was the one coming onto me."

"Right, and you just stood there like a pathetic virgin. Me and Kenny were laughing our asses off." Cartman scoff and I kick his leg.

"Screw you asshole. She was too clingy."

"But you didn't do _anything_. She practically begged you to do her and you looked like you'd rather be at home playing RuneScape or something."

As Cartman speaks a distant beeping sound goes off, so he gets up from the couch and disappears to be making noises from inside the kitchen. Good thing it erupted that Bebe discussion, because I don't really know how to explain myself about that. I don't like her? She smells too much of perfume?

I take the chance to check my Facebook on the laptop; it's more relaxing doing it on a computer rather than on a slow cell phone. A picture was actually uploaded from the party. It looks like it was taken pretty early though because there are only about seven people in it, Craig and Token amongst them. Everybody in the picture is clamped down in the living room couch and armchairs in front of a very tidy coffee table, most of them flashing sober smiles. By courtesy I hit the like button.

Cartman returns to the living room with a large plate in his hand and some scissors in the other. I can smell the pizza right as he walks in and my mouth begin to water. He sets the plate down on the coffee table; it's mozzarella. I cheer inside, I've never been more keen on food my entire life. I wonder if he'll let me have some.

"Big enough for two?" I slip. Cartman ogle me with a territorial gaze.

"Go ahead." He finally states while slicing up the pizza. He shoves a cut-off third on the table leaving the other two thirds on the plate and grins at me. I roll my eyes and pick up the piece. Through my bites I mutter the words "lard butt".

We gobble up the slices in like five minutes. It goes without saying that Cartman finishes his two slices at the same time as I finish my one. Agreeing that we're still hungry Cartman goes to warm up another one.

I decide that I get the honor of choosing a film. I'm in the mood for a bloody Tarantino so I stream down volume one of Kill Bill. Joining me on the couch Cartman seems pleased by the choice and plugs the laptop to the TV.

"I've seen this more times than I can think of." He sighs, plumping back in his seat.

"Who hasn't." I reply.

We watch the first minutes in silence. Bill shoots The Bride and Nancy Sinatra sings her "Bang Bang". Then I jolt up from the couch.

"**FUCK!**" I shriek launching toward the hall digging out my phone from my coat. The time shows 12:13. I instantly go to my contacts clicking on my home number. After two signals my dad picks up.

"Broflovski residence." He answers, sounding tired.

"Dad hi it's me. Sorry if I woke you or anything."

"That's all right son, we were just about going to bed." As he speaks I can hear mom's voice interpose in the background, pealing that she wants to speak with me. Dad ignores her. "Where are you Kyle, your mom said that you would be home by now." Now I have to choose my words carefully.

"Yeah sorry. I'm at Cartman's, we went here a while ago."

"You all went there?" _Shit_, he thinks I'm still at a party.

"No… it's just him and I." The speaker makes brushing sounds as mom is taking the phone from him.

"Kayl, what are you still doing out?! I thought I made myself clear that you would be home by midnight." Her upset falsetto voice causes a ringing in my ear.

"It's all right mom, I'm at Cartman's house. I just told dad it's just him and I here. We've been here for a few hours." I lie.

"You promised me Kayl that you would be home by twelve." She repeats. "And now it's past that time."

"I'm really sorry I didn't call you earlier." I give it my best to sound remorseful. "We kind of decided that I would sleep over." Before she can answer I swallow my pride and put on my most sweet bright voice. "Can I, pleeease?" I can almost hear her searching for words. "He only lives two houses away." I point out.

"I really want you to call home before making a decision like that, Bubbie." There, she's broken. "After all, you made a promise."

"I know, I'm truly sorry mommy." It was a bit of an exaggeration calling her mommy but at least it works. "I swear I will call you the next time."

"All right. Well, you have to be home early tomorrow for your insulin shot." She points out.

"I will. Thanks."

"Okay. Don't you stay up too late."

"I won't."

"Good, now sleep tight, Bubele."

"I will mom, bye."

I hang up and saunter back to the couch where Cartman sits with a grin going from ear to ear.

"_I'm sorry mommy._" He imitates my voice with a very squeaky tone and sneers. I hit him on the shoulder.

"Fuck you. You should be glad they're not your parents. I can't believe they actually let me stay here."

"I sure am. So it worked?"

"Just barely." I put my feet up on the coffee table as we return to watching the movie. I missed the fight between Copperhead and Black Mamba. Cartman didn't pause while I was on the phone but I'm well familiar with the plot anyway.

"_Can I pleeease spend the night at Cartman, please mommy._" Cartman suddenly squeaks again and I can't let him get away unpunished this time so I hurl myself onto him. He is laughing loudly as I press him down into the couch and punch him lightly in the stomach. He flinches while gasping for breath and holds me back at my chest. He makes that piping bright laugh of his sounding like tiny hiccups. It is so intoxicating and rubs off onto me and involuntarily I start to giggle. We remain in our position while catching our breath. I bring some tresses of hair away from my face and slowly move away from him. Our legs are still entangled but we don't make an effort to sort them out.

"You're such an R-tard." I grin at him. He's used to me calling him names but he seems intrigued by my unusual smile that follows with this one. I suddenly feel my stomach tingle when he responds to my smile without retorting at my comment. He moves his leg a little by stretching it out beside me.

"You're blushing." He remarks, pressing his foot against my shoulder. I grasp it and push it back to him. When my arm comes closer to him he suddenly grabs it by the biceps. I look up slightly alarmed, did I make him angry? But he's not making a face, just stares me into the eyes.

What happens now? Well, the hairs of my neck all rise up. Through my drunken tripping haze clarity arises. Several thoughts race to mind. _What is he doing? What am I doing? This is it now. But I wouldn't think of him like that. But he's coming onto me. Is he bi? Does that make it okay? Does that mean a change of plans? _But then the alcohol speaks and the same rush I felt on the peak of the dance floor jolt through me. _Oh, fuck it!_

In one breath I bring my face forward and land with my lips upon his, like firing a shot he can't dodge. My lips are dry and so are his, they lay completely still pressed against each other. I make it last a few seconds before withdrawing. I can barely look at him, the ball is in his court but I'm the one taking the punch. I remain entirely motionless, waiting for the death blow.

Then his hand is cupped behind my head and he slowly brings me forward and our mouths back together. It's him; he's theone doing it! I'm merely governed by his grip. He licked his lips before this one so it feels smoother. His mouth caresses my bottom lip and sucks at it gently. I exhale through my nose in relief mixed with pleasure. My hands grasp the fabric on his chest while his other arm sneak up behind my upper back, pulling me closer into him. I open my mouth and carefully lick his lips. He responds very welcoming by letting my tongue enter his mouth where the tip slides behind the row of his teeth. The taste of his mouth feels foreign and very intriguing. I've tongue-kissed a few girls before but never experienced this interest growing inside of me while doing it.

My back aches a little from the strained position so with my mouth still attached to his I move up and straddle his hips and with my arms embracing his full frame. With me on his lap he turns us both around so that he can sit leaned back into the couch. I arch into him so that our chests rub together. I've never acted this fiercely while making out with someone, it just comes naturally, and it feels more right than anything else.

His hands travel down my back, fingers pressing along the curve of my spine and smooth out on my ass. The touch sends out thrills beneath my skin. I can feel the blood rushing down between my legs, naturally. I love being touched by him, being groped and acted upon, an object of desire. Hell yes I love it! As a reaction to this, I kiss him more intensively with my fingers digging into his surprisingly soft hair. The aggression of my motion presses him deep into the back cushion. I can hear a muffled chuckle of astonishment coming from him in the form of a low moan and puffs through his nose.

My raising body temperature makes me take another action. Releasing from his lips I put my hands on his knees, leaning back slightly with my torso splayed. Elle Driver's whistling is playing in the background. I lock eyes with him while biting down on my lip and toss a quick meaning glance down my shirt. Glaring up at me seductively he takes a right guess at my will and with slight fumbling fingers he starts undoing the buttons. His mouth open in a weak gasp when my bare chest appears; it has grown a little pale since the summer and the dim light hits the skin bright. With my shirt open Cartman moves his hands inside it, placing them on the naked firm skin of my waist. Then he pulls me into a tight kiss again, with the hands going up my back beneath the shirt.

The beep from the kitchen goes off in the middle of it all but Cartman doesn't seem to bother. As the third and final beep screech I manage to utter through the kiss. "I think the pizza is ready."

Cartman releases for a moment to grunt back at me. "Fuck the pizza." Then he kisses me even more passionately and starts tugging the shirt down my shoulders. By now I'm fucking hard as hell and want to get rid of my clothes as soon as possible. After my shirt is thrown aside Cartman holds up to think for a moment.

"I have a better idea." His hands slap onto my ass and lift me out of his lap. I like the firm swift movement but resist the urge to yelp out like a girl. He rises onto his feet and grabs the hair at the back of my head, making it tilt back a little so I can meet his gaze; he's about two inches taller than me. "Get your tight ass up to my room." He whispers huskily into my face before releasing me.

As he makes his way to the kitchen I follow his order and scamp up the stairs. My jittering legs take me up two steps at a time. I fling the first door open on my right. I've entered Cartman's room many times, although never have I done so half naked, or with a raging boner. After looking around for some paranoid reason I move my hands to my crotch undoing my pants and pull them down. They're quite slim so I have to tug a little to get them off. I can hear Cartman coming up the stairs so I quickly take my seat on the unmade bed. Leaning back, resting on my hands I make sure my crotch is splayed with its throbbing member bulging out beneath the cotton fabric for him to lay his eyes upon.

A second later the ajar set door is thrown wide open, thumping into the wall which makes me wince a little. There he stands with wrinkled clothes and messy hair, eyes going from searching to hungry when he sees me on his bed. He waits at the doorway for a short moment as if to admire the sight of the frail Jew plumped upon his bed with spread legs. The cold moonlight coming in from both windows is the only light in the room and my skin appears exceptionally pale in it.

The almost electrical tension is unbearable and I lift a beckoning finger at him with a cocked eyebrow. He loses his sharp expression and laughs at my seemingly elaborated motion; perhaps he thinks it is a cliché. Rolling my eyes I get up from the bed and stride toward him. I silence him with a wet kiss and wrap my arms around his wide soft waist. The fabric of his clothes feels rough against my bare skin, but I like it. It's like I'm giving myself into him completely. His fingers are in my hair and clawing at my neck. He is really into sucking and biting at my lip.

"What were you doing downstairs?" I whisper as clearly I can between our fast breathing mouths. He lets go of my lips with a smacking sound.

"Turning off the oven." He grunts, smooching me again before uttering the next sentence. "I wouldn't want to set the house on fire in the middle of fucking your brains out." Since we never put any words on our upcoming acts until now I freeze solid. But judging by the hairs standing up on my arms and back I decide that I like him putting it in that way.

Then I feel nervous; he just declared that he would have sex with me, therefore he'll be my first. A part of me sighs in relief at having that taken care of. But for a millisecond I wonder to myself if it counts having another guy taking it. I instantly reject this thought, of course it counts, and if nothing else it could be a fun anecdote to surprise people with at parties. But surely I would only mention Cartman as "some guy" rather than by his real name. The thought makes my stomach flutter.

As the thoughts rumble inside my head, Cartman decides it's time to move toward the bed. He does so by pushing me across the room and shoves me backwards, making me fall headlong against the sheets. He then crawls on top of me with his knees astride my hips. He grabs my bony wrists and pinches them down on each side of my head, this really gets me aroused making me buck my hips a little. His fingers overlap due to my wrists being so thin, it makes him being able to hold on quite tight. Squirming from wild desire in his grip I show him a smile to make sure he knows that I like it. Without returning my smile his head sinks down for a kiss, his tongue reaches far back my throat and it gives me the thrills, the feeling of him forcefully "penetrating" me.

Letting go of my mouth he place his hand on my cheek and then press my head to the side and stroke his tongue over the shell of my ear. It tickles intensively and knowing he won't stop at the outside I yelp and try to free myself from his grip. But he's locked both of my wrists with one hand above my head and presses my cheek down harder into the mattress with the other one. Just like I feared he lets the tip of his tongue slide through the funnel of my ear canal. It's a mind blowing feeling, getting me furiously ticklish and horny at the same time. I moan out loud beneath him and arch my back in frustration. He finally sniggers at my squirms and relieve me from the exquisite torture.

Moving down along my body he stops above my throbbing crotch and situates himself between my spreading legs. With fingers teasingly trailing along the waistband of my boxers, he pinches onto it and slowly pulls them down and my leaking erection springs forth. Looking up at me he grins.

"Nicely shaved." He compliments shrewdly before grasping the base of my shaft, flicking out his tongue and licks the head. The much awaited sensation makes me let out a deep moan. I feel his wet tongue swirling around the head before forming his lips around it, sinking down. The warm wetness embraces my length down to the base. My hands nestle in beneath the pillow under my head and I throw my head back with eyes shut. With his hands clenching my hips he slowly begins bobbing his head. I release a long-spun wail. I'm not sure how I expected getting a blow job would feel but this definitely beats every expectation I could possibly make up.

I take a look at him working. _Cartman is on all fours, sucking me off._ I can't help but grin at the sight. To increase the delight I grab onto his hair lightly, making my hand move up and down with his head. It's like he's my marionette doll, bobbing under my grip. I groan at the kinky thought. Cartman release his mouth from the head and drags in a lot of air through his nose, like he got a cold.

"You like it, Kahl?" He whispers hoarsely while jacking me off. My cock is drenched in his salvia and it works like a great lubricant, minimizing the friction. The hand I used to grab his hair is now clenching down at the sheet. Once again I throw my head back, staring blindly at a spot in the ceiling while gasping. I hear him chuckle. "I take that as a yes."

I give a tug at my boxers still stretched out around my hips and he helps me pulling them down completely. He leaves them hanging at one of my ankles. _Nice._ Then he swallows my dick again and deep-throats it. I buck my hips into him, causing him to gag a little and he demonstratively presses my hips down into the mattress. Next he starts sucking hard on the head while jacking the base. He actually causes me to whimper and almost scream out his name. I can't help but thinking that he really knows what he's doing and I highly doubt that this is his first time. Maybe he _is_ gay, or at least bi.

But my analyzing thoughts are tossed aside as my dick starts twitching and tenses in his mouth. I can feel the orgasm hits me quite rapidly and I can barely give him a warning before shooting in his mouth. I ride out the wave with hands pressing against the headboard. As it fades my head falls to the side in fatigue. _Fuck. That. Felt. Good._

More exhausted than ever during the entire night I barely notice Cartman getting off the bed. I hear him cough a bit though.

"I'm gonna go blow my nose." He states a bit sheepish before leaving the room.

My heart is still racing under my long deep breathing and my skin is moist from sweating. All right, who fucking cares about principles, promises or orientation? Only knowing that this kind of pleasure exists will keep me calmer than ever before. I guess I'm playing in Kenny's league now, only not for pay obviously.

I pull my boxers back up and roll onto my stomach. My nose digs into the pillow which has a distinct scent of Cartman's hair that I recognize from a few previous moments during the evening.

The water running through the pipes to the bathroom is being shut quiet and shortly thereafter Cartman returns. He tuts at me. "You freeloading Jew, what makes you think you can call dibs on my bed?" He doesn't give me time to reply as he crashes on top of me and makes the air in my lungs seep out in a hard blow. I rise onto my elbows trying to make him get off me but he's too heavy. He snorts amusingly pressing me into the mattress beneath him. I give him a punch in his side and he finally rolls over. We lay on our backs staring up at the ceiling.

"You know, it would be unwise to act unfriendly towards someone who just came in your mouth. Because I assume you're not really out to people." I grin over the sudden overtake I have, my expression would have been complete with my fingertips tapping against each other in evil. Cartman scoffs.

"Who would _you_ tell? Your lady boy-loving friend or the bisexual slut?" _Ouch._

"I dunno, Douchebag?"

He grunts. "Yeah that's a good candidate."

"I don't think he would care, at least he wouldn't spread it around."

Cartman turns over on his side and grabs my chin, turning my face to his. "No he wouldn't because you are keeping your pretty little lips sealed about this." While he says this his thumb actually presses against my lips, then stroking them softly. "Understood?" I nod. "Good, because otherwise I will kick your hairless nuts in." He keeps stroking my lips while locking eyes with me. Those brown orbs that have taunted me for years are now glistening with determination and dominance. "It stays between us." Then a death kiss is planted upon me, a Judas kiss if you so will. Swiftly he drags me on top of him. There's something intoxicating about him that I can't resist, his devilish persuading technique, or maybe just he scent of his hair and skin. It's time I repay him.

On all fours above his body I kiss him with the same intensity I used on the couch, with my hands in his hair and my crotch rubbing against his. His hands squeeze the back of my straddling thighs, holding them firmly pressed against him. _Off with his shirt._ Sitting up I undo the buttons with such wrath I almost rip them off. "You make me so furious." I lean in groaning to his ear. "And hot." Throwing the two pieces of fabric aside his chest is splayed and I rake my finger nails down his soft flesh, leaving red trails. This makes him growl.

He rises to a sitting position and shoves me off him. I wonder if I killed his mood or something, but cutting that thought short by grasping my naked shoulders he press me down to the floor on my knees beside the bed. He sits himself in front of me. My head is at the same level as what he is about to release. He undoes the metal button followed by the fly and my hands move to tug down his jeans. Relying on both arms he lifts up his hips up allowing me to drag the trousers down to his ankles.

It would be foolish to expect anything else than the fully visible hardness growing beneath his white boxers. I rise still on my knees to make my face hover above the bulge. My hands claw at the waistband and while gasping or possibly sighing he lifts his hips again. The nervousness I experienced earlier is washed away and I hunger for what he hides. I uncover him and take a second to lay my eyes upon his member. I have hastily by mere accident had innocent eyes on it before in the school's gym showers, but seeing it in full erection is quite something else. It is delightfully thick and his foreskin has crawled down for the glistening head.

I suspect he thinks I'm taking too long to admire the sight as he cups one hand behind my head and brings me down. His other hand holds the base and he use it to guide his length into my gaping mouth. I think that I possibly gaped a little too wide because his cock jams far down my throat and instantly hits my gag reflex, causing a smothered yelp from me that blends with Cartman's low moan. How's that for a first encounter? In order not to feel sick I lift my head by relying on my hands seizing his soft thighs.

Cartman lets go of my head and his dick, now that it rests inside my mouth, and he leans back. "Go on, Kahl. I wanna see those knees red and sore when you're done."

I grasp his length with my own fingers to work at my own pace. Remembering how good it felt with my own cock smothered in salvia I make my mouth water before taking him in.

It's strange how you can walk around with your own dick during a life time, but never really feel the softness until tasting one. It's such a gay thought but whatever.

I can't say that I have thought of it before, but I'm not quite sure how to properly handle an uncut one. The skin seems to be keeping away overall, although rolling up slightly along with my bobbing lips. I fear that my teeth will graze it. I guess he'll let me know if they do.

Cartman must be feeling the same controlling power that I felt when he blew me because his fingers tangles in my hair and presses me down on his cock. Humming deeply he moans. "You're a natural, Kahl." _It's not that hard really. The technique that is, not him!_ I must say his firm grip pressing me down works as a turn on for me as well. It almost overshadows the jaw lock I start to sense.

As I increase my pace the sounds he makes become faint. I look up at him and see that with shut eyes he is biting down on his lower lip and seems to be holding his breath. But shirt is closed again, only by a few lower buttons but still. _He did that while I wasn't looking?_ Despite being perplexed I decide to ignore it.

"Moan for me, Kahl." Cartman whispers while dragging his hand through my by now very messy hair. I drag some air through my nose, which seems to get gradually blocked, and pass out a muffled sigh.

"That was pathetic." Cartman scolds and gives my curls a tug, it stings my scalp. "You can do better, little Jew."

I grunt at the mockery but as it escapes my smothered mouth it sounds like a moan. He keeps humming a bit louder. "Keep going, moan for me!"

I give in and release the loudest protracted wail I can manage through the suction, bobbing of my head and licking from the inside. I try to make it sound like I'm the one getting the blowjob. It certainly does the trick as he bucks his hips and gasp out loud. I don't stop there but keep on wailing for him while holding onto his thighs and try to block out the aching pain coming from my knees rubbing against the carpet. Now I get why Cartman had to blow his nose earlier, my own nose is almost overflowing and tears sting my eyes as a reaction from the gagging.

"Oh fuck, Kyle, you dirty girl!" Cartman yelps, pronouncing my name correctly for once, _and did he just call me a girl?_ Suddenly he groans and pulls out of my mouth, a bridge of my salvia drags out between my bottom lip and the head of his pulsating cock. He gives it a few squeezing strokes and while reflexively shutting my eyes I feel a small warm splash on my cheek and then dripping over my mouth. I freeze in tension, _he came on my face._

Cartman seems to enjoy his afterglow while taking deep breaths. Then a smile sparks in him and he leans forward.

"Aw, did you cry choking on my dick?" He teases, cupping my chin to inspect me mess he's made on my face. "I should Instagram this shit." He grins, the white row of his teeth mock me through the darkness. I say nothing and shove away his hand, making him jeer before falling back onto the bed. While I rise on slightly shaking legs, wiping the tear-mixed cum away from my face with my hand he pulls his boxers back on and drags the covers over him.

"You turd, why did you splash all over my face?" I exclaim looking up from my sticky hand, not as sternly as I'd like to sound. Cartman sniggers at me with both hands behind his head.

"I couldn't help myself. It's a huge turn on seeing you cry and wail."_ Sick, dude._

"Ugh, this shit will harden."

"Well, go wash your filthy face then."

"I'm going to!"

I march to the bathroom. I don't really want to turn the light on for the risk of seeing my face in the mirror, but since not being as used to Cartman's bathroom and still tripping balls I switch it on. The mirror confirms my fear, I look like a rape victim with blood-shot eyes, the trails of tears and smudged cum over my nose, cheeks and chin. I rub the stuff off my face the best I can in front of the running tap, having to use some soap to get it all off.

When I return to the bedroom Cartman has taken off his shirt and looks like he's already sleeping, eyes closed and his arm lying above his head.

I feel a bit cold standing around in my underwear.

"Do I have to sleep on the couch?" I state faintly. Cartman grunts in respond. I walk up to the bed and give him a nudge. "Come on dude, I just blew you. It can't get any gayer than it already is."

He sighs and sits up. "Let me just see..." He grabs my knee-cap and drags my leg up to the edge of the bed. Rubbing a stinging thumb over my scorched bent knee he snorts. "Yeah they look sore all right. Fine, you did as you were told. I guess you can tuck in. Just don't spoon me or anything."

"Oh, I won't."

A bit reluctantly I crawl up beside him, he offers me a bit of the covers.

I don't really want to bring up the next statement but I need closure.

"You know, most people don't consider blowjobs as fucking."

"What do you mean?" Cartman mutters.

"I believe you said you would fuck my brains out."

Cartman chuckles. "Did I disappoint you?"

"No… you just didn't keep what you promised."

"Well I think it's only fair. You've been letting down your own promises all night. It forever declares that you're nothing but truly lightweight." Cartman states into the darkness, giving me a scratch on my head. "And just as I predicted, I ended up carrying you home." With the back of his hand he slaps me very lightly on my cheek.

I just sigh heavily and turn my back at him.


	5. King of hearts and the queen of spades

I have some really weird dreams that night. I find myself in strange places feeling far away from home and the surrounding people mock me for reasons I cannot perceive. When slowly waking up I first believe myself to still be in the dream as I don't recognize any furniture in my room. It actually takes me a minute or so to realize that I'm in Cartman's room, and yes, there he lies snoring next to me by the wall. For a second or so I wonder what the hell I'm doing here.

Then the events of the previous night gradually unfolds and I do believe that my mind puts up a mental block as some sort of defense mechanism for me to not suffer a heart attack.

It appears that I awoke from being cold. Cartman has grabbed all of the covers for himself and left only a flap that barely reaches around me, leaving me half naked and almost shivering.

The time on Cartman's alarm clock shows 4:37 am. After a few contemplating minutes of staring at random stuff in the room I make the decision to get up and leave. That way I won't have to partake in the awkward morning after talk and when getting home I can slip into bed without anybody interrogating me.

I sneak around on my toes in Cartman's room collecting my clothes, which only seem to be socks and trousers. I know Cartman's mom cannot possibly be up this early but yet I feel extremely anxious about walking downstairs to the eerie living room shirtless. The grey piece of fabric lies on the couch. I could have sworn Cartman threw it on the floor last night. The thought crosses my mind that Liane may have placed upon the couch, like some lost mitten for the owner to retrieve it. Sheepishly I get myself dressed, first the shirt then the boots and the coat.

Stepping out into the freezing morning I fold up my coat's collar and warm my neck with the steam from my exhalation. It's still dark however you can see the sunrise luring at the horizon. G_oddammit, I still feel a little drunk._

I stride briskly down the sidewalk, so thankful that Cartman and I are practically neighbors. The cold can't crawl into my skin before I unlock my own front door and sneak inside, closing it behind me with careful patience not to make a sound.

After removing my boots I go to the kitchen to get the insulin shot over with. I consider having something to eat but abstain because of tiredness. I walk up the stairs still wearing my coat. Inside my room I toss it on the floor along with the jeans and the sweat/beer/pot stinking shirt before changing into a loose t-shirt to warm me in bed.

Crawling into your own bed after craving for it for so long is definitely highly ranked on the list of the small pleasures in life. I curl myself up into a ball. It takes a while for my cold body to raise the heat under the covers. But as soon as it's warm enough I stretch out and can finally drift off into a safe divine sleep and forget all about my sinful nocturnal escapades.

* * *

My mom wakes me up by poking her head through my door at nine-ish. She says something in a loud and definitely not morning-considerate voice, making me open my eyes hastily before closing them again and quickly falling back to sleep.

The next time I wake up by myself and reach out for my phone I placed on the night stand before crawling to bed last night. It's 11:32 am. The widest yawn takes over my face and I stretch out my arms and legs, causing a delightful relaxation in my muscles.

It doesn't take long however for me to sense a somewhat of a headache. I tell myself that I must have slept it off but an aching hangover is surely approaching as a slight nausea hit me. All right, off to Google. I type in "cure hangover" at my phone and come over several tips. Water and a breakfast seem to be the key. I will beat this before it breaks out.

* * *

One hour later I lay tossing and turning on my bead in agony. The toast I had did not stay down and just the thought of trying to eat again makes me even sicker. I even dread to drink the water beside my bed.

My mom came checking in on me surprised to still find me in bed. Knowing that giving her an excuse of just feeling ill would not fool her after me being out all night I just told her that I was tired, trying my best to hide the nausea. I do believe this is my worst hangover so far, of the few ones I've had, there was that other time this last summer when Cartman and Douchebag actually had to sort of carry me home. The time Cartman talked about yesterday when I claimed I could handle strong drinks. Fuck that claim, I bet nobody can handle a whole bottle of Morgan by themselves during one evening.

Luckily I manage to fall asleep for another hour and when waking up I feel a little better. I get up and surf around on my computer for a while before my phone rings. If it was anybody else than reliable Douchebag calling I probably wouldn't have picked up.

"Hey drunkard, who's it hanging?"

"I'm fucking dying." I answer casually and Douchebags laughs.

"Awesome. Yeah you hit it quite hard to put it mildly."

"Tell me about it. Never touching the bottle again."

He laughs again. "Never ever again. So what are you doing?"

"Besides being in gruesome pain?" I exaggerate a bit. "Nothing really, just hanging."

"Aight. Well, me and Kenny were going to get some pizza or something, you wanna come with us?"

I take a second to contemplate my state, I guess I'm in good enough shape to put some clothes on and go outside, maybe even having something to eat. In fact, besides feeling a little sick, my body is none the less craving something greasy to stuff my face with.

"Okay sure."

"Cool, just come over to my house then."

We hang up and I start to get dressed. I have a strong urge to put on a pair of sweatpants but having always been reluctant to wearing that garment outside my house or the gym I pull on a pair of loose-fitted old jeans instead and a hoodie over the t-shirt I slept in. I figure that I have every right to look like a slacker on a Saturday morning after a night of drinking. On my way out I press a loosely fitted black cap over my curls. I still like having my head embedded but as mentioned I don't use my old hat anymore, it makes me look like a kid.

Straight away I head over to Douchebag who lives about five lots away. I feel weird passing the two first houses on my way. Both of them make me think of the previous night's conflicts so I quickly walk past them. Knowing that I will see my other two friends who are completely unaware of the slip I made the past night brings me down to earth with a hard thud. A heavy stone sinks in my stomach. It will probably feel incredibly uncomfortable to be in the same room as Cartman with our mutual friends again. It makes me feel a regretful angst about last night.

Blurred flashes from it suddenly appear behind my eyes, Cartman tearing off my shirt, him on top of me, me washing my face afterwards.

I pinch my eyes closed in embarrassment that nobody can see. I will likely do best sticking with talking as little as possible about the night, not even mentioning it unless somebody else does.

When I ring Douchebag's front door Kenny opens it. He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, although the hoodie is discarded. He has a limited wardrobe but at least he tends making the effort to change his shirts.

"So… have you spent the night here or something?" I ask him when I've come inside and hang up my coat.

"Yeah, I did." Kenny sheepishly drags a hand through his hair, which more tousled than ever goes very well with his morning after look. It gives him a bit of charm. "We were high as fuck and I didn't feel like walking the last block home."

I can understand him, partly since I was basically in the same situation. And no offense but if I was Kenny I would have taken every chance I got to stay the night at somebody else's place, something I suspect he does. Especially now when the winter is coming; Kenny's house has no heat.

"So _Douchebag_, the decent bro he is, let me crash on his couch. Didn't you, handsome?" Kenny turns his head exclaiming the last part louder at Douchebag who comes down the stairs. His clothes are very similar to mine; hooded sweatshirt and worn jeans.

"Hi Dude." He nods at me.

Coming over to us in the hall Kenny puts an arm around his shoulders. "I just told Kyle about what a cool friend you are." He winks.

"Yeah yeah, I already told you I am paying for your pizza." Douchebag mutters, making me snigger at them. Kenny lets go of Douchebag to let him kneel down pulling on his sneakers.

"Well, technically your parents are paying for my pizza." Kenny torts a bit pensive and from the floor Douchebag pulls out a credit card pinched between his index and long finger, he waves it while looking up at me with a cocky look on his face. _Implying it's on the house are we?_

The three of us leave Douchebag's house. He lend Kenny a big down jacket before walking out and Kenny thankfully huddles himself in it. Douchebag lights up a cigarette and shares it with Kenny.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

"Well, if you're still up for pizza I was thinking we'd hit Whistling Willy's." Douchebags answers.

"As long as you're paying." Kenny adds.

I wonder to myself why they didn't invite Cartman. I know I shouldn't bring him up but still I ask.

"You've heard anything from the fat ass?"

Douchebag takes a look at his cell phone. "I called him earlier but he didn't feel like coming."

"He's probably at home vomiting." Kenny snorts and we chuckle.

Despite the relief that Cartman declined and the fact that it would have been stupid to have him come too… I kinda miss his company.

* * *

The walk to Whistling Willy's takes about fifteen minutes. The restaurant is mildly crowded by one family and a some younger guys who probably are at their hangover fast food rampage as well. The three of us choose between having our pizzas to go or to eat at the restaurant, without hesitation we go for the latter. With the dread of seeing mozzarella written on the menu board I order one Hawaii for myself. Usually we would have shared two pizzas but since Douchebag's mother's credit card is paying we order one for each of us and two large bottles of coke and Fanta.

Having sat down we slip onto the subject about the party.

"It got pretty dull after you went home." Kenny says and takes a sip of his coke-filled glass. "People got real wasted and went home. Me and Douche left around two."

"Hold on, you forgot about that part when you got ditched by Sally Darson." Douchebag chimes in and Kenny glares at him. Douchebag turns to me. "You see, Kenny was all over her drunk ass trying to get laid but she turned him down until Bebe came dragging her away."

Kenny shakes his head. "It was probably for the best, it's not cool doing it while they're drunk." He pauses and then leans back with palms up and a superior look on his face. "I was the perfect gentleman."

"Don't turn this story around!" Douchebag exclaims. "I was there, saw the whole thing and dragged your horny ass home. I was afraid you'd hump me instead!"

I can't believe they sit here joking about their sleep over while I can barely order a mozzarella pizza without feeling guilty. But then again obviously nothing out of the ordinary happened between the two of them, unlike with me and Cartman…

I'm glad they don't ask anything about it and continue arguing about the events of the party while our pizzas are served. Of course they slip onto talking about the sequence in the forest.

"I barely noticed you not catching up with us and then suddenly Douchebag came a bit later saying you'd choked and fainted." Kenny retells and I turn my head to Douchebag.

"You could not help yourself could you?"

"I had to say something, people wondered where you left." Douchebag apologetically explains taking a bite on his kebab slice drenched in sauce. It smudges slightly on his lips.

"Oh really?" I try to sound uninterested.

"Yep, Bebe personally came asking for you." Kenny grins. "She's hot for you."

"And what makes you think that?" I glare at him with a sinister smile; I know he saw her dancing with me. Kenny returns my smile.

"Don't act innocent." He gives away and then triumphantly points the sharp end of his pizza slice at me. "The question is, why are you not hitting it?"

_Motherfucker._ All right, this is not Cartman I'm talking with now, who knows all about my diversity, so I have to come up with a delusive answer.

"I'm not really up for a one-time thing. And I think that's all she's interested in." _Bingo, yeah I'm only interested in having a girlfriend._ Kenny gives me the biggest look of disappointment I've ever got from him.

"I wouldn't be too quick about that." Douchebag suddenly chimes in. "Haven't she been into you for a while?" He's right about that, she laid low in middle school but even I noticed in high school that she was taking interest in me from time to time. Kenny nods concurring.

"Tap. That. Ass." With directive hands he hits the table on each word.

I shake my head. "I'm not taking Douchebag's leftovers." I frown. Kenny lets out a long-spun _OOOH _while looking away covering his nose with his hand. I try my best to control a spreading grin while glancing over at Douchebag. He just shakes his head and smiles.

"Dude, that thing is over. I'll tell you that." He snorts. "If you want her, I won't interfere."

_As if_ I think to myself.

* * *

The rest of the weekend passes by quite eventless. I don't hear a word from Cartman nor Stan. I think about them though, or more precisely thinking about Cartman. I have a hard time focusing on everything I do from my clouded mind. At the basketball practice on Sunday I have the kids playing around a bit more than usual while I relax on the bleachers occupied with my phone. The previous night I caught myself looking through Cartman's pictures on Facebook and right now I'm going through them again, even re-reading our Facebook chat and the text messages he's sent me. There's nothing really that could be taken for flirting. I can only imagine it to be. Regardless, it bestows me joy to read the words he's typed, sometimes they even causing a smile to escape my lips.

I try to not analyze my behavior all that much. After all, we spent a night together exchanging blowjobs and orgasms, that must cause for somewhat of attachment, if so only temporarily.

So then the day turns to evening and school is approaching. Before going to sleep I take a quickie under the covers. And when reaching the ten seconds of blissful ecstasy one word is gasped from my lips into the darkness. _Cartman…_

* * *

Before going to school the next morning I talk my mom into giving me a ride. I'm not quite ready yet to ride on the bus together with Cartman. I think that maybe I should try to speak with him about it today though, perhaps at home after school. But until then I need to get emotionally prepared, and especially figuring out exactly what to say.

Our first class is math. I'm arriving a bit early so I won't risk running into you-know-who at the lockers. Our stupid teacher never keeps the door unlocked before class though so I have to sit around waiting with the other early birds. Tweek is always one among them so the two of us sit talking about the party. Tweek says he began seeing things after his fifth drink so he headed home around midnight. I don't ask him anything more about it.

When more people begin coming in I persistently toss glimpses down the hall. Not until a few minutes before the teacher arrives I can see three well familiar body shapes walking in a group and begins chatting loudly with some other guys from the class. I quickly decide pretending not to notice them and turn my attention to my math book. It's like torture trying to not look at them.

But then the teacher arrives and people begin flocking around the entrance, as do I. Then the guys catch the sight of me and approach.

"Hey dude, you missed the bus." Kenny exclaims and hits his book on top of my head before walking inside the classroom. After him comes Douchebag who gives a nudge at my arm as a greeting. Then my eyes land on an approaching Cartman. I can tell for a millisecond that he looks at me with the same petrifying flash. But his face quickly sinks into an apathetic state and he just gives me a nod before turning his gaze away and saunters behind the other inside the class room.

That's it, that's all I get? I didn't expect a kiss or anything but at least a better greeting, a pat, a smile, anything!

With my heart sinking into my stomach I drag my feet behind me while heading inside as well. I take a seat at the front row, close to the windows. Tossing a quick glance back I see that Cartman and the other two have sat down close to each other in the middle. _Dammit,_ now I will look totally strange sitting so far away from them. So much for pretending nothing is going on. Well, on the other hand I guess no one will jump to the conclusion that I'm sleeping with Cartman just because I didn't sit down with them. An involuntarily smile suddenly creeps out on my face. _I'm sleeping with Cartman._

I groan indistinctively and shake my head while scratching my temple. _Get it together, Kyle!_ I shout at myself inside my head. _No thinking dirty thoughts!_

The teacher takes up the lecture and I do my best to focus. It was part of my plan taking a seat in the front so I wouldn't get tempted looking at Cartman. But about fifteen minutes in when boredom strikes I make a daring move by slowly glancing back over the hand I'm resting my chin in.

Cartman sits with his attention directed at the board, mildly fascinated and drumming with his pen against the book, also holding his chin up by his palm. I imbibe the image of him before his eyes suddenly dart to my direction. Like being burned by fire I flinch, looking down for a moment before turning my gaze back to the white board. I can feel the batch of blood my heart just shot out reaching my face. After hesitating for a while, not really wanting to draw any attention to myself, I reach down into my bag on the floor, fish out my black hat and pull it down over my red ears. _You're blushing._ I can hear Cartman's voice from that night echoing inside my head. Well, I do now!

* * *

The painful class must have left marks on my ass from all the needles I sat on. On our ten minute break we sit in a group of guys in the corridor. They still talk about the party and most of the guys find it a huge success. Bill Allen brags about getting a blowjob from Annie Nelson in the bathroom. I think about my own score but that is not exactly one to rant about so I just look down at my feet while some of the guys cheer for him. Not Cartman though, but I abstain from observing his face. None of my friends bring up the incident in the forest; it wouldn't have been appropriate even for them.

The next period takes place at the same class room so we remain in the same seats. I keep my tense guard but loosen up a bit when Kenny hurls a crumpled piece of paper at my back and we laugh when the teacher scolds us. Seeing Cartman smiling with us relaxes me, while also making me feel that warmth again.

Lunch go by without any peculiar conversations, people seem to grow tired of the subject about the party and land on other discussions.

When we end for the day I consider talking to Cartman but it seems like he is deliberately avoiding me and I can never get a word with him alone. I hate this secrecy. I could easily just take the conversation with him in the boys' bathroom or something. But before I know it he's left the building. When I reach the school yard I see him and Tweek jump into Token's car at the parking lot and soon they drive away. I feel a sting of anger and disappointment while heading to the bus stop. Thankfully Kenny and Douchebag catch up with me. They keep me from feeling like a total left out loser when joining me on the bus home.

"Something the matter, dude? You've been really quiet all day." Douchebag remarks and I shrug.

"You tell me."

Douchebag cocks his eyebrows at me and we don't talk about it again after that. I'm not sure I'm doing my best anymore to keep up a façade but as the bus approaches our neighborhood I care less and just want to get home. Kenny says he needs to take care of something downtown so he stays on the bus while Douchebag and I jump off. Douchebag's house lies right next to the bus stop so I don't have to endure his company for long before waving him off. It is nothing personal against him, I just long for being alone.

When getting back home I send a text to Cartman asking him what's up. When not getting a response for thirty minutes I start to grow irritated. The irrational part of me considers walking over to his house and confront him but I'll not let him have that. Now I'm too upset and decide to ignore him like he did with me all day. Thinking that my homework will take my mind off him I bring up my math book and start reading.

After having gone through a paragraph I realize that I don't remember anything I just read. Instead my mind is cocked-up with scenarios of what I would tell Cartman if he was here.

I hurl the pen harshly at the desk and it bounces away before landing on the floor. I dig my fingers into my hair and lean forward resting on my elbows. My discouraged head is downcast upon my homework.

_What is happening to me?_

* * *

**_A/N: Waking up in strange places is an art form in itself. One of the many excitements in life if you ask me. Ask Kyle? Well, he's a rookie._**


	6. After every hit we take

The locker room smells as frowzy as always. Thankfully the PE classes have begun taking place indoors so we won't be heading out in the rain after changing. After having slipped into shorts and a jersey shirt with my old team number on it I shut my locker. Kenny gets up from the bench where he sat waiting for me to get ready. He's wearing a regular cotton t-shirt and a long pair of trunks that I suspect he also use for swimming. May Cartman not notice them.

Cartman... That turd. I've successfully ignored him since yesterday. Not that it was much of an effort since this is our first class for the day but I took a ride from my mom again this morning and the night before I spent playing Killing Floor, not logging onto Facebook or picking up my phone a single time.

All right, I took one quick look at his Facebook late in the evening. Before going to sleep. Under the covers with the lights out.

But that's irrelevant, now that I'm back to my angry screening self. Entering the gym hall ready to kick that motherfucker's ass in whatever game we're playing.

Apparently lacrosse will be the choice of execution. Cartman and Douchebag whine out loud when it's announced. They hate lacrosse, claiming it to be right-wing faggot hockey. Everybody is given their sticks and then gets divided in two teams. _Team Red Shirts:_ Douchebag, Token, Kevin Stoley, Heidi Turner, Lola, Tammy Nelson, Petsuki, Fosse McDonald, Leo Brandt and Jacob Hallery. _Team Green Shirts:_ Kenny, Tweek, Jason, Esther, Milly, Emily, Bill Allen, Cameron White, me and Cartman. Discouraged I look down at the green shirt being handed to me.

"Could I… possibly be on Douchebag's team?" I ask the gym teacher holding up the green jersey.

"Yeah, I wanna be on the red team as well." Cartman also comes up exclaiming. "It's not fair, they've got Token and he's got lacrosse in his rich blood!

"Fuck you fat ass, I hate lacrosse as much as you do!" Token hurls at him from the field.

I turn to Cartman. "_One_ of us is switching sides, because I'm **NOT** playing on **YOUR** team!" I yell at him throwing the green shirt on his face. It sure felt good screaming at him, it has been way too long since the last time.

The teacher doesn't react very much to my outbreak but gives out a tired sigh, like she dealt with quarreling kindergarteners. "You keep the shirts you've been given. That's **_green_** for you, Broflovski." Her voice gets sterner when calling my name. Cartman tosses the shirt back on my face and gives me a shifty grin.

"Don't worry, I won't be afraid of hitting you with my club anyway, _Jew boy_." He snorts giving my ass a tap with his stick before walking over to the others grouping on the field. I give out a loud groan of irritation and reluctantly pull the shirt over my own jersey.

We pick Tweek to be our goalie with his fast sense of reaction. I'm designated attacker along with Kenny and Milly. Cartman is first selected to be a defender but argues his way to become a mid-fielder with Esther and Jason. We get into position. I notice Kenny tossing lusting stares at Milly's revealing yoga pants. _Christ,_ how are we gonna win this? Besides, the teacher took out the only fuel in me by putting me and Cartman on the same team. I'm angry but not fierce like I would have been if it was Cartman standing there on the other side, instead of Token, staring me into the eyes.

Jason and Douchebag meet up in the middle and kneel down for the face off. The whistle is blown and all the attackers and mid-fielders jolt from their freezed positions. Jason got a hold of the ball and passes it to Kenny who misses it. The ball is picked up by Token and he runs in on our field where Esther bumps into him, making the ball roll away from them. Cartman picks it up and runs a bit before hurling it to me. I catch it bouncing on the floor landing in my mesh. Token, Kevin and Douchebag comes running at me so I head off toward their goal along with Kenny. A very scared Tammy stands in my way as the other team's defender. She stands frozen holding up her stick like a shield in front of her and I'm about to throw the ball into their goal when Fosse crash into me. The hard erupting bump rocks my brain and knocks me down to the floor with Fosse on top of me.

"**FOUL!**" The teacher yells and blows the whistle.

"That's gay!" Fosse yells back. I shove him off me. When getting up I see Cartman laughing at the foul trip. I would do anything to switch teams right now.

Another face off is set and this time the ball is off to our court in Douchebag's mesh. He swiftly passes it to Token who sprints for his life before taking a leap and fires the ball at Tweek who tries to block it but misses by a mere inch. The Red Shirts howls in triumph and Token raises his stick I the air.

"Goddammit Tweek." Cartman slurs. I come up to him and slam my stick against his back as a punishment for his lack of team spirit. He gives me an outraged look and takes a threatening step towards me before the teacher notice our out breaking dispute and blows the whistle again.

"Cartman and Broflovski, get in position!"

By now I'm pissed and barely caring about the game. I missed my goal and now we're running behind. Plus this bastard does nothing to keep me from murdering him.

At the third face off the whistle is blown once again and before long, red-shirted Petsuki is on his way past the mid-fielders. I run up after him. Petsuki passes Cartman but instead of tackling him, Cartman takes his attack at me instead while shouting too close to my ear "Keep on the other side!"

While I crash into him with huge speed his leg hits my knee and I fall head forward. My face hits the floor with a numbing thud. I dropped my stick in the fall and it glides away from me along the floor. Another ringing whistle is blown.

Relying on my elbows I lift my face of the linoleum floor. My nose is throbbing painfully. On the spot where it crashed small red puddles has formed. My trembling fingers move up to touch the outside of my nasal passages. When I look down at my hand the fingertips are smudged with bright red blood.

I should be furious with Cartman, but it's washed away with my chock from seeing blood. The game has stopped and our classmates curiously come near. The teacher hurries up to the crime scene and I sit up on my knees cupping one hand over my nose and mouth. I frown at the pain but make no sound. The teacher crouches down beside me, reaching her small hand out to lift my makeshift compress. She hisses in a grimace when seeing the blood. She is in her early thirties and knowing that she has small kids I can imagine that's the face she also makes when picking them up from tumbles and hits.

"How does it feel when you touch your nose?" She asks and not quite sure what she means I pinch the tip, sure it aches a bit. "Let me." I allow her to pinch my nasal bridge. After rubbing it lightly causing me nothing more than another frown a low grunt she shakes her head. "It doesn't seem to be broken, but you should have the nurse check it." She rises from the floor. "Go clean yourself up. If you want to, you may be excused for the rest of the class." I hear Cartman scoff after she announces the last part. She takes a stern look at him. "And I want **you** to sharpen up hereafter. This is _serious_!"

Cartman rolls his eyes at the scolding. "I'm sorry,_ ma'am_." He drags out looking away. Douchebag comes over and helps me get up from the floor, although I'm fully capable of doing so myself.

"You okay?" He asks sounding concerned, likely because of my running nose and I nod.

With my hand cupped again over my lower face I head over to the locker rooms without looking at my classmates, who surely observes me closely. Having closed the heavy door behind me I saunter to the bathroom connected to the shower space.

I splash water on my face and wipe it dry with some paper towels. The bleeding wasn't all too heavy and seems to go down, still hurts a bit though.

Echoes goes through the rooms when the locker room door is opened and then slams shut. Following the sound of the running water someone's footsteps approach the showers. First I think it is Douchebag coming to check on me but when turning around I meet Cartman's inquisitive and culpable face.

"Did it hurt?" He states, even having a string of abashment in his voice.

"The fuck do you think." I slur tossing the damp towels into the trash can. I walk out of the booth and stop on the tiled floor a couple of feet in front of him with folded arms. "Did you come here to see me cry or something?"

He snorts at the thought. "No I came to apologize. They were all bitching at me saying I should."

I let out a sigh in dejection. "Yeah, you should do that." I say while stepping over to the wall where the shower faucets are. With my back against it I slide down onto the cold floor and stretch my legs out.

Cartman scratches the back of his head and makes a grimace. "I guess I didn't mean to hit you so hard. It was supposed to be more as a directive."

I scoff at his dumb excuse. "No not about that." After my words have been uttered he looks at me unwisely. "I'm talking about you screwing me and then treating me like air." I shoot at him. He observes me with a blank face for a few seconds before putting on a slight grin.

"When did you become such a girl?" He scoffs mockingly.

"I'm not acting irrational, you are. What happened this Friday was something out of the ordinary, you should acknowledge that." This makes him fidget. It is possible that my words confused him, they do with most people. Cartman looks up at the ceiling. All the time he's been leaning against the entrance.

"I do acknowledge it. But we shouldn't make a big deal out of it. We were drunk off our asses and tripping balls. It was only a one-time-thing.

Why is it that those words turn me sad? It's the certainty in him that it won't happen again that slaps me in the face. I hum in a response.

Cartman then looks back at me and his head slowly falls to the side. "Are you saying you want it to be more than one time?" He asks a bit wide-eyed.

"No, well… it wasn't that bad." I turn to the floor hiding a smile. I hear him chuckling.

"No, I agree." After a few seconds of silence he comes over and kneels down between my feet. I meet his gaze, his head is tilted to the side and he seems to inspect my face with the same expression he had when he admired it being smudged in cum. "Your snout sure is red." He grins.

"Is it bleeding?" Automatically my hand flies up touching it. He shakes his head and reach out to remove my hand. Holding it in his own he rubs his thumb over my palm while looking down at it.

"I guess… I'm sorry, for hitting you." While looking up at me again he takes his other hand and press the thumb on my chin. After slightly tilting my head down he plants a dry kiss on my forehead. Then he whispers into my curls. "But I'm not sorry for making you bleed."

So much for a nice moment. Although I could have considered the sentence to be sexy, out of pride I turn my hand and head away from his grip and fold my arms. He giggles a bit at my childishness.

"Come on, Kahl. Perhaps I can make it up to you?" He makes me meet that devilish cat gaze again and while locking eyes his hand travel down between us, lightly grasping the bulge between my legs. I blench at the touch but don't push him away. Of course that part has a mind of its own and instantly responds to Cartman's touch. Although the rest of my body doesn't remain completely unaffected, suction takes place at the bottom of my stomach and my feet get cold from offering its blood to another body part.

The rush makes me stare into his eyes mirroring his expression and with a reached out hand I grasp the collar of his shirt. Then I pull him to my face and lock my lips with his. Our tongues instantly meet and wrestle together. Cartman exhales entrained through his nose since I was the one making the move. His hand sneaks behind my head nestling into my curls. Suddenly I get the intense urge to press myself against him, resulting in my breaths becoming louder between the heat of our wet mouths.

All of the sudden Cartman breaks the kiss. Clenching his hands onto my hips he gives me a boost to rise from the floor. Now he's kneeling in front of me while having me pinned against the wall. He's shoved the hem of my shirts up to suck and nip at my tight skin. The tickling delight makes me moan faintly, its echo bounce off the walls like a murmur.

Then an idea crosses my mind. I grab Cartman's head between my two hands and tear his face from my stomach, making him look up at me confounded.

"I know how you can repay me." I state treacherous and take a few teasing seconds before uttering my next words. "Suck my balls, Cartman." I can actually see the pride fading in his eyes, such a lovely sight. The best he can do is scoffing at me.

"That was a clever one, sneaky Jew."

Without answering I demonstratively grab the waistline of my own gym shorts and shove them down my thighs. They land pooling around my trainers.

"You walked right into it, fat ass." I lament with a faked tone of remorse and stroke his hair, imbibing every second of this astounding moment where I have the indubitable upper hand. "And something tells me you will be having your mouth full of me anyways." I toss an evil grin down at him while his own smile is long gone and his glare burning with disdain. Leading him onto the right path I clutch his hands from being pressed against the wall and put them on my hips, making his fingers curl inside the waistband of my boxers.

In a grunt he slaps my hands away and with one swift motion he tears the boxers down all the way, they join my gym shorts at my feet. I gasp when my bare ass touches the cold tiled wall, but then I can't help but chuckle at the harsh grumpy way he removed my underwear. Cartman digs his fingernails into my hips and ass as if to set me straight and I let out an aroused groan.

Things have definitely risen to the occasion due to my empowered moment earlier. Cartman grabs it with his mouth and starts working directly. I stand enjoying it for a minute or so before growing impatient. Tugging lightly on Cartman's hair I exclaim "Don't forget" and buck my hips a little.

His warm mouth lets go of my dick and while grasping the shaft with his hand he thinks for a second. Then he leans in embracing one of my balls with his lips. But without even moving his tongue he lets go just as quickly as he took it in.

"There, I did it." He mutters and forms his lips around my cock again. But I take a grab at his bangs and push his head back.

"No quarter, dude!" I exclaim sternly. He grunts and smacks his hands on my ass before pulling my crotch to his face and takes the same ball into his watered mouth. I feel a tingling suction and his tongue swirling over my fine smooth skin. (Yes, as Cartman remarked the other night, I do keep things tidy.)

Releasing my ball from the oral treatment he wipes his mouth and glares up at me. "Bloody satisfied? Cuz I'm not doing it again."

I flash him a toothed smile in a way to show that I appreciated it. However, my hand searches its way into his hair again. "Not quite yet." Cartman probably thinks he's in for another go at my balls but instead I press the head of my cock through his blushing lips. He gapes wide and takes it over manually.

He performs the technique of jacking the base while sucking the head, making me squirm against the wall in teasing jolts of pure (or should I say sinful) pleasure.

Speeding up his pace my eyes roll back in my head as the climax hits me. I push deep into his throat and unload while groaning loudly. After I release him he tosses his head aside and spits out my load on the floor beside us.

He quickly comes up on his feet and moves over to the entrance before turning back at me. I still stand panting against the wall with my shorts around my ankles on the floor and legs trembling.

A sneer sneaks out on his face when he says "You should clean up." And clenching his fist he slams it on the shower button with a loud bump. I shriek out when the freezing water rains over me soaking my clothes and I huddle down. I hear him chuckle viciously before he leaves the room.

* * *

After my little shower I go changing before heading to the nurse's office which conveniently lies very near the gym hall. Like I predicted she estimated there to be no fractures in my nose. When I'm out I've got twenty leisure minutes before next class begins, I use them reading ahead in the textbook. How Cartman would tease me if he saw it.

Since there is definitely not the same tension between me and Cartman like there were yesterday we sit next to each other in class. I'm still a bit sour from his water prank and especially since he taunts me about it.

"How was your shower, Kahl?" He leans in smirking from his seat. I hit him on his shoulder, which gives him even more delight from mocking me. I know deep down that the best method is really to ignore him. It was a huge success one time in fourth grade when we all, I mean almost the entire class decided to treat Cartman like air. It got to the point where he actually was tricked into thinking he was dead. Then Butters came in ruining it. Anyway, knowing the ignoring technique is the most effective on him, I still can't bring myself to meet his insults with total apathy. Not only because they annoy me like hell but also because… I don't know. It's Cartman. I guess I like the attention from him, it's useless to deny it anymore.

Of course I don't only receive attention from Cartman this class, but several other people come up to me wondering how badly I was hit. Obviously they see it's nothing serious since I'm not even wearing a patch, my nose is just slightly bruised and a little sore. Is it strange that I don't blame Cartman at all for it? Sure he tripped me but after the amazing blowjob he gave me I don't really hold any grudge against him. Now that's what I call making up for something!

It seems like mine and Cartman's dispute in PE class is on many people's lips, even in on lunch. It got to be exaggerated as the word gets around. Like how we got into a fight right in the middle of the game and Cartman punched my nose in making me bleed all over the floor. You get the picture. So everybody must seem quite disappointed when they see us sitting together at lunch as usual. If they only knew what methods could be used to forgive and forget! I'll not be all too cocky about it though since Cartman puts on his regular façade for the crowd, calling me names and act all over arrogant.

"I gotta say I like the version everyone else tells better." Douchebag jokes now that I've made clear I wasn't seriously injured. "Even though I was there, the real thing wasn't intense enough." Kenny and Token make concurring grinning faces.

"Yeah, I bet you'd love seeing me getting some intense beating, gay wad." I toss back at him along with a meatball that hits his dodging hand.

"I bet Cartman would." Kenny exclaims and all the exhilarated grins around the table are turned to Cartman who looks down at his food but actually chuckles with them.

"I think I already did. He was leaking all over the place, weren't you Kahl?" He turns looking at me with a cunning glare and smile. This look may sound flirtatious but it is really full with mockery and it drains me from words. Only I can get the metaphor, and while having a flash of him kneeling in front of me coming to mind all the blood rushes to my face. Whatever it is, he can still turn it against me.

I bring myself to scoff at him while turning my gaze down to my plate. My reaction seemed to entertain the others unwisely thinking I was ashamed of being hit to bleed. When in fact I was terrified the charade would go to pieces and the dirty deed between me and Cartman be revealed. But of course Cartman would not be such an idiot to disclose something that would also affect him as badly as me. That might have done it for him in elementary school, but since then his schemes have sharpened up.

Then when the attention is directed at another subject something funny happens. The other guys are discussing who's the hottest of Nathalie Dormer and Emilia Clarke in Game of Thrones, I think, when I feel Cartman's knee brush against mine. First I imagine it to be by accident, even though he's not getting up or anything.

But then his shin begins rubbing with long strokes against my calf and as nobody else can see it he tosses a lusting glance at my perplexed face from the corner of his eye. _My God, he has such a gorgeous profile!_ I find myself more stunned and uneasy rather than embarrassed, we're in the middle of the cafeteria for Christ's sake! That doesn't seem to bother him however as he turns back to munching on his food like nothing happened. I'm not sure what he wanted to accomplish.

I get my answer short thereafter though when we finish our lunches ten minutes later. Getting up from his seat before me Cartman leans in slightly and whisper to me from behind. "Meet me on top of the stairs." Then he hurries after Douchebag and Kenny to the line out.

* * *

It might sound strange, but our school only has one real set of stairwells. The school is built on the width rather than its height so it only has one main level. And when someone says "at the top of the stairs" they refer to the area outside the school administrators' offices. Not many people come there since the teachers' lounges are spread throughout the main level corridors. There may be some school personnel coming by but definitely no students which I believe Cartman had in mind when selecting our meeting spot.

The grand spiral stairs are as empty as always when I climb the stone steps. Same goes for the waiting area on the top floor. The stairwells are the only nice-looking part of the school building and I suspect it belonged to the original one. As mentioned the steps are made out of stone and there is a grand window in between the two floors.

When reaching the top I'm not sure what to do while waiting. There are two grey armchairs deployed by the wall but I'm more curious about observing the grand board beside them. Behind its glass it's pinned with tiny single portrait photos of all the school's students, taken at last year's picture days; the new ones from this year haven't arrived yet.

I'm not quite sure what purpose the board has more than seeing how your classmate's pictures turned out. The order of the pictures is sort of a mystery but I think it goes class after class vertically. My hair was in between cuts in the photo and my wild auburn curls frame my head like a hood, tresses hanging down in my face. I don't smile; I never do in pictures. My mom was quite disappointed when hanging up the portrait to the collection at home. Douchebag also has longer hair in his picture, looking very similar to Kenny's hairdo and he sports a half-smile. The shooting came on a bad day for him having some mean zits spotting his chin. Kenny has a wider grin flashed and sort of glares up at the camera with a black eye he never told anybody how he got.

Suddenly my phone vibrates in my pocket; it's a text from Cartman saying "Be there in 5", I sigh in my head. My eyes travel down to Cartman's portrait. It's a very nice one. His fair brown hair is combed neatly and his smile is without any secret motive like it usually is. He looks like he's smiling at someone he really likes.

I scan through some pictures of the other class, Stan with his sincere gaze, Butters before he started to grow and Wendy right after she cut her hair in a sleek page.

I stand watching the many pictures for a couple of minutes before hearing the echoes of ascending footsteps. I can turn around to notice Cartman before he has a chance sneaking up behind me.

"Hey Jew." He greets slouching a bit while climbing the last steps.

"Why the secrecy?" I jump straight to it. He leans back onto the railing of the balcony.

"I think we should meet up after school. I didn't feel quite done with you there in the showers." He proposes shrewdly with hands in the pockets of his knitted double-breasted cardigan, it looks good on him.

"If you want a blowjob you can just say it." I state with a tiresome look. A bit troubled from my blunt words he scans the stairwell hastily to make sure we are alone and hopefully unheard. Then he takes a few steps closer to me.

"We'll hang out. Come to my place."

"Oh, no." I articulate with a held up hand. "If we'll _hang_, we'll go to my house. I'll not have you try anything."

"Such as?" He looks at me skeptically with a cocked eyebrow.

"How should I know." I frown.

Cartman ease into a grin, almost seeming amused by me. He collects some air for his next sentence and swing back onto his heels and forth with gaze fixed down before locking eyes with me again.

"All right, we'll go to your place then." Then he comes even closer and presses his hand on my ass to pull me in for a kiss. It feels incredibly naughty performing this erotic contact while at any moment someone might walk out of the administration hall spotting our mischief. I want to make it last and wind my arms around him but he lets go abruptly and head back to the stairs.

"Later." His word echoing while he scamps down.

* * *

**_A/N: I haven't played lacrosse since high school but I tried keeping shit real._**


	7. Your innocence is mine

I ride the bus home with Cartman, Douchebag and Kenny. Cartman doesn't mention us two going to my house so I guess that's how we're rolling. Douchebag suggests however that we come hang at his place when we step off the bus.

"Sorry dude, but I have to get home." I tell him and motion to my stomach, injecting myself with an invisible shot. Damn, that's a helpful excuse sometimes.

"I'm going home too. So you two can make out in peace." Cartman sniggers.

"Kay, we will." Kenny replies all casual and Douchebag punch him in the shoulder.

"Aight, see ya." Douchebag farewells and after that we separate, him and Kenny heading over the lawn to his house and Cartman and I continuing down the street. I wait until we are at Butters' house to break the silence.

"You make a lot of gay jokes for being someone who sucks so much dick." I remark.

"Sucking dick doesn't count as gay if it's with you." He retorts with a sly glance.

"Oh screw you, ass hole."

"If you insist." Cartman scoffs and tear the hat from my head, unleashing my wild curls. I yelp and try to reach for it in his grip held high in the air above me by yanking his arm. My tug jerks his arm down a bit but then he starts fucking running away with it! A couple of yards ahead he stops turning around with an evil grin smeared across his face and wave the hat like a matador would a red sheath to provoke a bull.

"Cartman, you're fucking retarded!"

"Come come Kahl, promise I won't trip you."

"You give back my hat or I'll punch your face in!"

"Come get it, Jew."

"Fine, you asked for it." I launch myself toward him and when I'm about to shove an elbow in his smug chin his arms come down sealing my own upper arms from above. My feet actually lift from the ground as he twirls us around from the speed I had coming at him. Before putting me down my vision is blackened by the hat being pulled down over my entire face. A hard thump stabs up through my feet and spine. Just as I recover wobbling from the chock the brim is folded up, exposing my lips to the sudden cold before they are embraced again by the warmth of Cartman's. It's just a quick peck he gives me while hugging me tight with my arms locked in his grip. If it wasn't for the fact that I'm holding my breath I'd probably panic from the smothering thick black fabric of the hat.

Cartman lets go of me and when I shove the hat up my face he's taken a step back, just as jeering I thought he would look.

"Dude, what the hell! Someone might see us." I hiss at him. My face must be all red peeking out underneath the cap because his shoulders tremble with amusement as he smirks at me.

"Yes, I know."

We're in front of Cartman's house now but surrounded by the Marsh and Stotch residences plus the houses across the street. Apart from one car pulling up to the bus stop and some kids' playful voices from a distant yard the street is completely deserted. But if somebody decided to take a look out their window a few seconds ago we'd be caught.

"If you're gonna do stuff like that you can just go home."

"Aw come on, I was just joking."

"Somebody probably saw that!"

"Geez, I know Jews don't have any sense of humor but you are fucking weak."

"How the hell is kissing me in the middle of the street in bright daylight a joke? When somebody sees us you're in as much trouble as I am." After I exclaim this, the nonchalance in Cartman is fading and he puts on a sturdier face.

"All right, you've got to calm down. There's no one here. Don't get all worked up over nothing." He says and walks past me. Adjusting my hat I follow behind him, continuing to my house. I'm just glad he finally took a matter between us seriously.

* * *

When we enter the hall at my house, Ike is watching afternoon TV while on his after school snack spree, I can tell by him munching on a toast and the table being sprinkled with bread crumbs. God, I used to do that every day in junior high, it doesn't happen too often anymore as the afternoon snacks have been replaced by afternoon naps.

"Hey, Ike."

"Oh hai." He answers with a mouth full and notice right then that I've brought company and he instantly sits up straight. "Are you going to use the TV?" He asks with a look of worry.

"No, it's cool." Ike seems relieved and turns his eyes back to the show. "Where's mom?" I add.

"At the mall."

I hear Cartman snort behind me indistinct "Good" and he earns a glare from me. And that's just an old habit, if Douchebag had said it I wouldn't have reacted. It is nice that my mom isn't home, but I'm not all in for letting Cartman enjoy that satisfaction.

When our jackets and shoes are off I put on a friendlier face. "Wanna grab a snack?"

"Yeah, sure. That is if you have any decent food." He jeers and follows me to the kitchen.

I don't think anybody has a food stash decent by Cartman's standards in comparison to his own. We don't keep candy and other fatty snacks at home but mom makes sure to have the fridge filled with other fine stuff to easily throw together. Ike and I are especially hooked on sandwiches, toasts and other bread-related dishes. From the stuff Ike has scattered around the counter I make one toast for myself with cheese and also have a yogurt. Cartman butters his bread up real good and complain about us not having any ham. He knew it before but he takes his chances to comment on my family's obvious diversity. It's gotten old, really.

We bring our food upstairs to my room and I close the door firmly behind us. Cartman has seated himself on my computer chair and use the desk for dining table so I sit down on my bed with my snack on the night stand. A slightly awkward atmosphere lingers so I pick up my phone and Cartman logs onto my computer while eating.

I try to mind my own business, but can't help watching him at my desk since his back is turned toward me. I take some daring moments to observe him with growing desire, his broad shoulders under the cardigan and the slightly tousled hair at the back of his head, which I have memorized the scent of. He checks his Facebook and watches some video before clicking up my files.

"So where do you keep your porn?" He smirks, glancing back at me with his sandwich at hand, he's almost finished it.

"I have none. I go online like every other human being." I cock an eyebrow and put my lips to the plastic yogurt bottle.

"Ah, let's check your browser history then." Cartman says and shoves the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

"You'll have to look for ages. I haven't browsed any of those sites in days." I admit, with my knowing of having used my own imagination for the last couple of times.

"I'll just type in the first letters and see what suggestions come up." He states ingeniously with fingers on the keyboard.

"Dumbass, I use incognito tabs!"

Cartman sniggers back at me, a taunt is being cooked up in his head. "You little perv, how weird things are you jacking off to?"

"I'm not! I just don't want my mom to type in some first letters and see that stuff coming up."

Cartman frowns. "Why would your mom use your computer?"

"She uses every computer in the house."

"What a bitch. But then again, I already knew that." He flips his bangs in arrogance and turns back to the screen. There he goes again waking my irritation and lust at the same time.

"Don't call her that! She's just prying a lot."

"Whatever. What's your Spotify password?" He asks casually while clicking it up. With my old habit of keeping a guard against my disturbingly sexy rival I don't tell him. Instead I get up from the bed after a moment of pondering. I come over to him bending over the keyboard and let my fingers dance over it.

I'll admit this was also a move to get closer to him. Relying on my elbows I'm bent over quite far to a suggestive position. I have no idea how he reacts since I don't see his face but I hope he catches my hint. After hearing the logged in sound emerge from the speakers I rise.

"I saw it." Cartman states, I turn to his dodgy face; he's leaned back in the chair with elbows on the armrests.

"No you didn't."

"Yep, you didn't even ask me to look away."

"What's my password then?" I lean my hip against the desk with arms folded.

"Hot for Cartman." He says with a luring gaze and I scoff back.

"No it's not!"

"Is it not so?" He locks his arms over his chest and strokes his chin with the thumb and index finger while inspecting me inquisitive.

"I'm not telling you, whatever you're referring at." I won't take this game further so instead I turn to the mouse and select a playlist, Gorillaz's Feel Good Inc pumps out of the speakers. Then I head back falling onto the bed, there I reach out for a comic book by the nightstand and hide my face behind it. It makes it easier for me to toss a few more unnoticed glances at the brunette surfing on my computer, his foot tapping along to the beat of the song.

After a while he leans back with a bored sigh and turns around with the chair, legs stretched out and eyes wandering about.

"Your room is boring. Too clean." He grunts. I actually take a look around myself. Sure, no surfaces are particularly cluttered. I have my mom to blame for it. I don't have that many furniture either; bed, nightstand, desk and bureau. Some posters of Star Wars and Game of Thrones cling to the deep blue walls, an old team picture, some sports diplomas and the old Einstein above the bureau. The edges are all ragged on that one.

"I bet you're hiding some fun stuff behind this tidiness though." Cartman exclaim before getting up from the chair and saunter to the closet. I don't stop him, for the dull reason that I actually don't hide anything funny. What would be considered as interesting treasures to him, some old mocking able stuff from Jewbilee at the bottom of the bureau, the one-time-used lubricant in my nightstand drawer? The closet would however be the worst place for him to look if he wants to find something exciting.

Now he's actually kneeling on the floor, rifling through stuff behind the doors. I let out a distinct groan to stress how ridiculous he's behaving. Then he suddenly gives out a cry.

"Just as I thought! Look what I found." He leans away from the doors and holds out something for me to see. I first roll my eyes figuring he's found some old picture or something, but my eyebrows furrow and I lift my head when I detect the bright green fabric of my old worn hat.

"Where did you find that?"

"Bottom drawer." Cartman states proudly and spins the hat on his hand. I'd actually forgotten about it. But trying not to appear fascinated I snort and turn back to my comics. From the corner of my eye I see Cartman rising from the floor and approach me. "Wonder if it still fits." He utters with enthusiasm while plumping onto me in a straddling position. He's taken me by surprise and I hit his chest with the folded magazine. He sniggers and slaps it away from my hand, the pages flutter like wings as it flies to the floor. Cartman moves upwards and lock fast my upper arms by holding them pressed down with his knees. A storm of frustration from disadvantage takes over my body.

"Aw, come on!" I shout and try to kick him in his back with my knees, but he's too far up.

He has a delighted grin spread across his face and holds up the green blur before me. When he place the brims around my head I'm blinded for a few seconds, then my hair is pressed to my scull as the hat is pulled down the back of my head and I can see Cartman's manic face again. He gives the sides of my head each a clap upon the ear flaps.

"Fits like a glove." He smirks.

"Can you please get off me." I command, without arguing he moves over and sits beside me with legs over my lap and his back against the wall. He unbuttons his cardigan from the warmth of our modest wrestling.

My hands reach up to feel the old familiar fleece fabric. It actually fits better now than it did when I was ten since I deliberately chose the hat over its loose fit. And I have to say I've missed feeling the flaps warming my ears and part of my cheeks.

"I haven't worn this since seventh grade." I mumble.

"Luckily." Cartman scoffs, he watches me with arms crossed over his belly. I remove the hat from my head and sniff the inner fabric, I have to fight a grimace breaking out.

"Wanna know a secret?" I state a little shrewd. Cartman waits for it. "I haven't washed this a single time since." A devilish smile creeps out on my face and Cartman looks at me like I just revealed that I wear panties. I snicker at his reaction and he gives me a nudging hit in my side with his heel.

"You nasty fuck." He mutters with a sneer and looks away. I toss the hat on his face, to which he flinches and smacks it away like a bug and it tumbles down beside the bed.

"Dude, relax. You've had nastier stuff in your face." I snap while cracking the bones in my fingers. Cartman hums.

"True that, nothing will beat your Jew balls. But enough of this." He suddenly exclaims and moves up straddling me again. "I didn't really come here to talk." He says in a husky tone hovering above me. Feeling his crotch pressed against mine sparks the first buzzes inside me.

"Well, then what did you have in mind?" I state in a low voice from an elusive smile. He looks down on me a bit sniffy.

"Don't act stupid, Kahl." He snorts before dipping his head and clasp my mouth with his opened lips. The tension between us drains off now that the urge race through me and I arch into him, grasping the sides of his t-shirt under the warm knit. I don't get to enjoy the make-out for long however as he releases from my lips and holds me down at my chest, my arms slide off of him when he sits up straight.

"You've had your fun today, Kahl. But now it's my turn." With that he grabs the hem of my t-shirt and drags it up above my head, I reach my arms up to make it easier. Cartman's hands trail down my naked torso together with his yearning gaze before reaching the button of my jeans. It bestows me huge arousal to be undressed by him, to see the hunger in his eyes and feel his furious hands tearing the protecting fabric down my legs, exposing me.

He finally gets rid of his own cardigan and throws it aside, although not removing any other garment from his own robust body. Then he harshly grabs onto my shoulders and initiates me to flip over onto my stomach. All right, by now I feel slightly uneasy (none the less turned on) about what he will do next. Without any eye contact I can't have any control, it's scary but strangely exciting.

Cartman quickly gets a hold of my both wrists and pinch them together with one hand above my head against the wall. I gasp into the pillow when he starts kissing the sensitive skin of my neck. I hate him if he leaves a mark but who cares right now? His other hand caresses its way over my ribs and down to my waist. When he reaches the hem of my boxers he sits up and let go off my wrists and I claw down at the pillow while purring. I hear him unzipping his jeans. Not until now it dawns on me that something else than a blowjob may be in order.

"Wait…" I mumble and rise onto my elbows. He tries pushing me down again but I resist. He sighs and leans down on me, fingers digging into my hair. I feel his hard erection pressing on my ass.

"Just keep relaxed. I'll go easy." He hushes soothingly.

"But… I…" I can't make out any words because I don't know what to say or how to say. I just turn my head to meet his eyes. He looks determined but stares at my anxious face for a moment.

The corner of his mouth creeps up just before he asks "It's your first time, huh?"

I shut away my gaze with furrowed eyebrows. Before I open my mouth to answer, Cartman chuckles with amuse into my tresses.

He gasps for breath and smacks his hand on my shoulder blade. "Okay, we'll need some lube. Got anything we can use?"

"Uhm…" I reach out to the nightstand drawer. Inside it I fish around for the small white plastic tube. Holding it up, I hear Cartman mumble "Good job" and he nabs it from my hand.

The cap is removed and bounces down on and away the floor. Cartman leans in again. "All right Kahl, this will hurt a little at first." Then the last piece of clothing is rapidly removed from my body (and tossed away instead of left hanging) and my cheeks are spread. The cold substance is dripped down in between and sends me shivering. I think to myself that maybe it would be a good idea to have warmed up with alcohol instead of sandwiches. A few seconds pass before I feel Cartman's finger probing at my opening. When it presses past the ring muscle a terrible pain shoots through me, causing my whole body to tense. A whimper escapes my lips and Cartman's hand strokes my hip while he's hushing me calmly. The act feels rather clinical than sexual and I have my doubts about continuing with it. Cartman takes it very slowly however, getting me used to the pain as I obey his orders about relaxing my muscles. With one finger still inside me he adds another one without warning and I shriek into the pillow.

"Ow, fucking bastard!" I actually bang my fist into the mattress. Having absolutely no control over the pain is what gets me helplessly frantic.

"Sh-shh… You're doing great." Cartman comforts while keep stroking me with the other hand. He uses the two fingers to move in and out at snail pace until my whimpers become faint.

"You're getting me real hot, Kahl. I know it hurts, but I'm getting so hard seeing you swallowing my fingers." His words console me so some rate, knowing at least one of us is enjoying it more. Pearls of sweat start appearing on my temples from the tension I try to fight and before I know it he shoves in a third finger. It's not as painful anymore; the aching meets up with my re-wakening arousal. I never really went completely soft but now, more blood starts flowing to my dick, stiffening between my stomach and the sheets.

"Oh geez… oh fuck…" I moan into the pillow hugged tightly in my arms. Cartman chuckles delighted at my moans and increase his pace just slightly.

"See Kahl, it gets better. A bit for you…" He mumbles, first with a soft voice but then it gets hefty. "…but mostly for me." His fingers quickly slides out relieving my muscles but before long I hear the brushing of fabric being moved and then he spreads my legs a little more while leaning over. The head of his lubed-up dick slides up to my entrance and I wait for the great agony/pleasure coming. He needs to press hard to get past the first muscle, but when breaking through he causes a pain greater than before.

Thank god for the cramped pillow turning my scream into a hum. I can barely feel how far in he is, it could as well be all the way.

"That's the head." Cartman declares from behind. "And for the last time, relax."

"I'm trying." My mouth whispers into the clear. Cartman grunts and slowly pulls out of me. I hear him fumble around a bit before I feel him pressing some cool fabric against my hip.

"Lift your sexy ass." He commands and when I do so he shoves the other larger pillow underneath my lap. It gives my lower body a lift and I guess it should make it easier for him to go further in.

During the second round I try imagine me embracing his cock rather than being pierced by it. It helps me relax and for the first time Cartman begins to moan.

"Oh god, you're tight Kyle." He gasps, making me wonder why he always pronounces my name correctly when in great pleasure. The pain has deviated and allows me to feel his movements inside me. He goes slowly but still keeping up a pace. Our moans blend together because I like it when his thrusts reach the deepest.

Suddenly Cartman groans and yanks my ass up with him to his kneeling position, therefore dragging me back onto my own knees. Right then, right there when he fires the first deep thrust it hits a new spot and a bolt of pleasure rocks through me. I do believe Cartman must have heard my slightly more intense moan as a reaction to it, because he lets out a laugh and collects his voice.

"Just in time, wail for me you bitch." On the last word he slaps my ass and it stings but blends magnificently with my new-found delight, striking me in sharp waves every second. I don't even have to stress myself to make any sounds for him, they come out uncontrolled.

"Oh wait…" Cartman mumbles, his thrusts abstain but he doesn't pull out. I turn my head in wonder while he goes leaning diagonally forward to reach for something on the floor. I don't have the faintest idea what, before the distinct green fabric shows up again. Supporting on my elbows I manage to toss a sceptic look back at Cartman's grinning face.

"Dude… what do you need that for?"

Cartman snorts. "I'm not gonna use it. You are." Before I can protest he's bent himself over me and dragged my old hat down my head. Cartman hums in delight while inspecting the crowned work from above; Kyle Broflovski, bent and penetrated before him with bewildered eyes under the familiar bright green ushanka. I can't imagine what goes through his head.

"Yeah, that's it. There's the Jew I've longed for." His words creep out from the most sadistic smile I've seen on him. His finger nails are raking down my hips in his restraint.

"It's too hot." I pipe.

"Damn straight it is." Cartman nods.

"No, I mean it's too warm." The fleece fabric creates heat rushes under my skin, breaking out more sweat along my hairline.

"I don't care." He grunts and turns my gaze away by shoving my head down harshly while picking up his pace again.

Being with Cartman I always have to uphold the balance between keeping my old pride and enjoying the sensual pleasure from giving myself into him. I believe this is my greatest test so far. He fucks me with such ferocity since the hat came on. His finger nails are digging into the skin of my ass while his thrusts evoke me to let myself go. Somewhere behind my closed eyes I find my focus, and it's set on the pleasure as I block everything else out.

"Fuck yes, Cartman!" I hiss out throwing my head back from its submission. I feel Cartman's hands clenching tighter, he rocks me slower and a lot harsher on his dick while letting out a grueling cry. He gives it a final deathblow and almost makes me tip forward from the shooting thrust deep inside me.

After some deep panting he pushes my ass away from his dick and immediately his warm load seeps out, trickling down the inside of my thighs before I land against the sheets. Shortly thereafter his hands come down on either side of my head and the rest of his body lands party upon mine.

We lay catching our breaths for a short while before I'm the first one to move by turning on my back under him. I groan from the effort and see a grin appearing on his exhausted face.

"That was sweet." He mutters satisfied.

"Not really, what's the deal with leaving me hanging?" I complain with my fully visible boner. Cartman gives a grunt in reply and I press my palm against his shoulder, lifting it a bit. "Come on, no fair!"

"Yeah yeah, just give me a minute." Cartman grumbles in a raspy voice. "And on one condition." His voice becomes clearer and he lifts his left hand to place his index finger on the up folded brim of my hat. "This stays on." He smirks up at me from the pillow, looking kinda cute. "Then I'll give you the best head of your life."

* * *

**_A/N: Haha, I love that this is the second most viewed chapter in the story (the previous one coming in third). You just jump straight to the good stuff, don't you?_**


	8. I'd rather waste my life pretending

I remember him dashing about with quick reflexes on the grass field, wearing a slightly oversized jersey and having some dirt smeared across his bony knees. That stupid hair of his being tousled by the wind, the rich morning light hit the tresses, making the ginger in him shine. Douchebag and I had temporarily sneaked away from class to share a smoke in a nearby coppice. From behind the bushes we had a clear view of the others obediently keeping up the game of football. Douchebag didn't notice from being the one carrying our scattered conversation but my eyes were casting frequent stares away at the field, following the marked body which seemed to glow more than the others in the last warm sunlight of September. Occasionally when the ball had made some defying action he stopped running and stood watching with hands resting on his hips, creasing the excess fabric, his shoulders slouching childishly.

He runs fast for a Jew. Teasing him for being physically weak has never been a good option. Something that hits home better is mocking him for being such a know-it-all swot with no free time. The taunts anger him and the truth behind them bugs the hell out of me. However, right then, like countless other moments my eyes were persistently glued to him, and that bugged me even more.

I really did loathe him for a couple of years in elementary school. Like he really made me sick to my stomach and I was firmly convinced of how superior I was to him, all his traits and his Jewish family. But it turned against me. He was occupying my mind so much as I was thinking of ways to degrade him that somewhere, a voice sparked. It screamed to be near him and claim him, and not for delicious humiliation but in a shameful way. At least that's what I felt when that voice sparked, shame.

I've deliberately bashed my friend's head with a frying pan earning him permanent scars from four stitches. I've locked another friend inside a real bomb shelter because I wanted his invitation to a birthday dinner, I forgot all about him and three days later they found him disordered and he had pissed himself from fright. I've stood in the doorway to my own mother's bedroom in the middle of the night, glowered upon her scraping my finger against the blade of a kitchen knife.

But first when that voice started screaming inside my head I felt the heart-sinking pinch of shame.

Reminding myself how much I had to hate him didn't work. So eventually I chose to ignore him. This was about sixth grade. I avoided being around him, like he was some snake to me, carrying poisonous venom in his sharp Jewish teeth. Or a weakness, yeah definitely a weakness I didn't wanna confess to. There's been many weaknesses I've hated about myself to be honest. Things I've had to keep away from other people ridiculing me about. How goddamn fat I was as a kid, how my single mom really brought the green to our household… The Jew boy was the final straw, too much to handle.

I saw my refuge in Douchebag. That's a real bro right there, never failed my trust. Not even when Kyle and Stan tried to steal him from me when we were kids. Right when he kicked Kyle's smug little ass in refusal of going over from my side to his he earned my respect. I know it was just a retarded game but something clicked in me from the feeling of being chosen over somebody else. I kept my cool though, didn't want to let him know right away how much I appreciated him as a friend.

There was that one time in sixth grade though when he happened to be at my house, seeing the process I've had to go through for as long as I can remember. He and I had a sleep over but my mom had forgotten about it and brought home two guys in the middle of the night. I walked in on them being half undressed, passing that fucking crack pipe around on the bed and I freaked out. It's happened before but this time I just lost it. All the suppressed rage I had about her not being like a regular mom just exploded and I started yelling at her, calling her mean things. She got upset about me fighting with her in front of her company, and loosened up from god knows what substances she unusually fought back viciously. Afterwards I was a complete wreck and with Douchebag hearing most of the fight I had no choice but come clean to him, about all that stuff I had to hide from everyone else. I don't know if it's just in his personality but he stood by me like a true friend, not ever making jokes about my mom like everyone else did or bringing the incident up again. I guess we both saw each other in a new light that enhanced our friendship, nothing else can come from a situation like that.

But no matter what, I still could not bring myself to tell him about the things going on in my head over Kyle. I wanted to tell Douchebag on several occasions though. But it ended with me convincing myself there was nothing to tell. He was left thinking like everyone else, that I hated Kyle to my guts and had always done so. Eventually, things cooled down from not being touched and I wasn't all that bothered about the Jew by the end of junior high. He was just a fantasy I'd locked away.

Then came high school and our class was divided. Kyle was finally separated from Stan, that lame old best friend of his and he started to hang out more with Douchebag, therefore I was forced to endure his company more. It was uncool trying to push him away because Douchebag really had nothing against Kyle. Our grouping resulted in me talking to the Jew a lot more, he still annoys me but yet it's hilarious to irritate him. His short temper hasn't changed at all, which is what I enjoy the most with him.

That is until recently when I started to enjoy more satisfactions from him.

My tired eyes are locked on a spot between the wall and the ceiling in my room and I lie motionless on the bed staring with one arm tucked under my head. Mr. Kitty is curled up in a furry ball in the bowled space between my knees. He likes to crawl up into anything that has edges protecting him, and right now my legs are his basket. If I make the slightest move he'll flinch and spurt away.

It's ten thirty in the evening and I left Kyle's house five hours ago, when his mom came home. I got up from his bed fast like a rocket where we'd laid talking for about an hour. Saying hello to any parents was not on my agenda, especially not his bitch of a mother so I was out of there in a matter of minutes. Kyle probably wanted me to stay for dinner and that shit but I don't care if I spoiled his faggy expectations. The venom of his has seeped into my skin and I need to make sure it doesn't spread. The task of cutting him out had worked so well but now everything's fucked up. I was thinking with my dick, it's probably that Jew magic he's been working on me. They can never be trusted. The thing bothering me into this idle state though is that I opened myself so much to him. I'd laid there babbling on about how much I was annoyed by Stan, Wendy and other people at school, about my mom's lame-ass boyfriend that has been on and off for years… I even told him about that rich bratty guy in Nebraska who was the first (and only) one I'd banged with, and never heard from again since.

Moving my arms and trying not to bother Mr. Kitty I drag my hands down my face._ Damn Jew magic._ It must have been it, making me open up because _I don't like him._ He's a nice piece of ass; I'll give him that, but nothing more. He's just someone to hang out with among mutual friends, and to fuck when alone. When thinking about it closer, I should be able to keep it like that. After all, he turns me on and just unleashed an old repressed fantasy of mine. _Fuck, seeing him in that hat of his…_ When at it, it could turn out as a great opportunity to toy with him again, both physically and emotionally. At least all this screwing around seems to work having him bend over for me (like, literally). I could have him wrapped around my finger, tightly and for real. That's perfect!

The adrenaline rush through me like every time I'm set for a sparking idea. I rise up in a sudden move and scare Mr. Kitty away in my burning determination and move over to the computer. Kyle is not online in the Facebook chat, probably tucked into bed like the mama's boy he is. Kenny however is always online from his phone. The Facebook chat is the only way to reach him, because he can't afford sending text messages. And that's not a joke of mine, Douchebag actually told me.

_zup hippie_

It takes a few minutes for him to answer.

_not much fatass. just got home_

_catching ur breath from the make out with douche?_

_yup_

_kewl_  
_listen, did you ran out last friday?_

A bold move and a minute or so goes by between the show notification and him starting to write back.

_nope_  
_you up for some?_

_me and jew are up for another hit_

_sweet_  
_when?_

_friday?_

_saturday works better_

_fine, saturday it is_

_is kyle really up for it again? he blacked out last time x)_

I chew on a pencil in contemplation. Yeah, what about Kyle?

_trust me he is_  
_he needs to learn!_

_lol yeah_

His last draft is left unanswered by me and the conversation dries up. The salvia-damp wood of the pencil crunches between my teeth while my right knee is jumping. I guess I have my fix for the weekend, and I'm not talking about the green.

This is the flawless plan to tame Kyle. It won't be easy but nothing worth having ever is.

* * *

Saturday is far away, only half of the school days have passed, it hits me like a rock when entering the room for German class. Douchebag the sucker is home from school so my eyes frantically search for the next best person to sit with. My steps inside the room are slow-paced while I scan the faces, which are taking their precious time to babble before the class begins. There are mostly guys from the parallel classes here. Goddamn hillbillies, I can't stand them for a single minute. Like being hit by a shot my eyes abruptly meet with an alighting face just before the person it belongs to utter his words to me.

"Hey Eric, you can sit here. Well… if you want." That bloody stammering voice, searching for approval. I look away a bit distressed, fighting against rolling my eyes directly in front of him. Reluctantly I head over and crash down on the chair next to his. It's in the middle row and just behind the front one, _great..._ With elbows on the table I rub my face behind both of my palms, letting out a grumpy sigh as an expression of hidden dejection from sitting next to him.

"Well gee, how you doin', tired?" His mid-puberty voice breaks.

"Yup, stayed up to three or something." I mumble partly behind my hands, staring through my fingers at the whiteboard. I hear Butters exclaim a sound of amazement. I don't know why I fed him for a conversation but it's just an old habit with him from ancient times of bossing him around so much. Except I don't really get any thrills from bossing Butters around. Unlike with other people; unexpectedly, an image of Kyle's back flashes before my eyes, naked and bent forward. The corners of my mouth twitch into a smile for a millisecond.

"Wow, I could never stay up that late, I always fall asleep as soon as I shut my eyes." Butters ramble on. A sigh of contempt takes place in my head at his try of keeping up a dialog.

"Yes I _know_ you do." _What the hell, why would I blurt out something like that?_ It causes Butters to giggle however. Curiously I glance over at him, just in time to see him combing his fingers through that blond hair of his, sticky with some gel. I always think to myself what a wuss he is when laying eyes on him. But if you rest your sight on him for a longer while there are some probably well-sculpted features emerging, like a pair of wide-set ice blue eyes (almond shaped like Kyle's) and impressively white teeth often flashed in nervous smiles. Which is why I never observe him for more than a couple of seconds, not that I think he's cute or anything, just that it's Butters and I can't consider him anything else than retarded and annoying.

"I know." Butters snigger. "Well, how was your weekend? I heard Clyde's party was a success. Too bad I couldn't be there. I had to take care of some stuff at home."

"Oh really?" My upper body is turned toward him with my head still resting in my hand. I try to sound bored, but he can never take a hint.

"Y-yeah, I had to help out my mom with something…" I wait for him to continue but he just rubs his knuckles against each other slightly and looks at the whiteboard.

"Well…" My hand smacks against my knee and I move my head around to make my fingers drag through my bangs. "I don't think you'd liked it very much."

"Oh… w-why not?" Butters questions, almost sounding a bit hurt. I take a look at him and see his eyes are wide with wonder. Another wave of contempt creeps through me. I honestly don't care about what to tell him right now.

"Oh you know, just a lot of boozing and viping. Someone fainted from being high and people were fucking in the bathroom. Not your cup of tea I guess." I state in a smug dispassion, wiping a thumb across my bottom lip. I leave Butters quiet for a moment. But then he lets out a short laugh.

"Sounds like you had a blast. Too bad somebody fainted though, I hope they weren't hurt. I guess they inhaled too much then." Not entirely what I expected, his last words make my brows furrow and I actually look him in the eyes. Butters own eyebrows slope down along with a tender smile. "I mean, many people take in too much when they're not used to it." He continues in an excusing matter. I shut my eyes while shaking my head.

"Wait, did Kahl talk to you?" I ask and now Butters shakes his head but with eyes wide open.

"No no, why, does he have something to say?"

"No! Just… what you said about smoking." There is some genuine curiosity growing in me right now.

"Well, the first time people blast a stick they inhale too much, thinking it's like regular smoking. Gee, I almost made the same mistake myself when being new to it." Butters casually ramble on and cause me to stare at him long after he's finished his sentence. My lips are slightly parted in wonder.

"You get high?"

"Uh… not that much. Only a few times." Butters stutter and cast an anxious glance around him before leaning in closer with fear in his eyes. "Just don't tell on me will you? I-I'd never be allowed to leave the house again if my parents found out."

I just scoff spiteful at the thought. Tell his parents? I'm not that into humiliating Butters.

"Whatever. Just… how did you… get it?" I state curiously, my hand making a circling motion while searching for words. Maybe Butters has got a hold of a dealer none of us have been in contact with, perhaps someone from out of town.

"Well, don't tell anyone but I got it from Clyde. Actually we used to do it together." Butters pauses to make room for a shy smile accompanied with a distant dreamy gaze. The apples of his cheeks appear slightly blushed. "Thank goodness I had him around at my first try. Otherwise I'd sure end up on the ground." Then the panic returns to his eyes. "Oh hamburgers, I've told you too much haven't I? Well… keep it a secret won't you, in fact, don't even mention it to Clyde. P-please, Eric."

Christ, is he that anxious about it? I take a look around to spot any eavesdropping looks from the other people in the classroom, but I guess Butters is the perfect cover when it comes to matters of these. Nobody suspects him talking about this stuff, let alone revealing his own mixing up with them, no not him with his argyle sweaters and ironed shirts. He looks like a total prepster, except he never drink beer and dance around to house music, as far as I'm concerned. I've seen him wearing top siders in the summer though.

Butters still waits for my answer behind his worried expression. I close my eyes and make a shrug, like I really didn't care. And I guess I don't, sort of. It seems to calm him however and shortly thereafter the teacher arrives.

_I can't promise you anything, preppy boy._

* * *

I never get tired of seeing the teacher rolling that ancient TV into the classroom and in front of the whiteboard. The German class with Butters has gone by and right now we're in the middle of history.

The movie keeps me engaged for about twenty minutes before my eyes start wandering about. They purposely land on Kenny in the desk next to mine. He is leaned forward onto the tabletop, resting his chin on his crossed arms with rolled-up sleeves.

I poke him in the exposed skin of his lower arm with the sharp end of my pen. His hand instantly jerks to the stabbed spot scratching it while his vexed gaze meets mine. I lean toward him. We're sitting in the back so the teacher won't notice, especially not when having the lights out.

"Did you know Butters fires up with Clyde?" I hiss in a low voice. Kenny furrows and his chin drops a bit.

"Butters? As in Butters Stotch?"

"No, Butters da Vinci." I scoff and roll my eyes. Kenny gives me a glowering look. "Anyway" I continue. "I thought you already knew since he gets his stuff from Clyde." I give him an inquiring look with raised eyebrows. Kenny frowns and shakes his head with a glance at the front of the classroom.

"No, I've never sold to him before until last week." He states.

We both lean back into our seats not to raise any suspicion. In two minutes or so I turn back to Kenny.

"Do you think Clyde buys from the same guy you use?" I hope Kenny will say no. A snort puffs out of his nose while he grins and shakes his head.

"I don't think so."

"You sure?" I ask and Kenny turns down to his book, drawing a graphite rainbow on the page.

"I don't think Clyde buys from him, can't imagine he would." Kenny speaks very indistinctively, his voice getting drowned out by the movie. I decide to drop the subject for later.

Butters getting it on… Even I haven't digested the information completely. _And speaking of…_ I haven't told Kyle yet about his plans for the Saturday, or the plans I've made for him that is. How many times hasn't that occurred before? But I never get tired of seeing his expression when things out of his expectations dawn on him, those narrow eyebrows furrowing and his face growing red in aggravation. I'll tell him at lunch.

* * *

"Sorry, can't. I have to be at Ike's hockey match." Kyle frowns and takes a bite of his fried fish. I can see even Kenny looks at him a bit let down. I keep my own dissatisfaction away from my facial expression though while staring down the maddening red head in front of me.

"Not kewl, Kahl! Not kewl. Just skip it!" I exclaim at him from the opposite side of the table.

"No can do." He just mumbles completely monotone. I start growing irritated.

"Why, will you get grounded?" I snort adding a lot of contempt to my words. Kyle snorts back.

"No. But I can't join you. Maybe another time." I swear I would punch his goddamn face if I could, right in his bruised little Jew nose and making him bleed again. But I have to contain myself, knowing that physical violence probably won't work in persuading him.

"Fine, Jew. It's your own loss." I say turning my attention to the food on my plate, trying to hold back my disappointed rage. The bloody kike just shrugs at my statement.

A tense silence lingers around the table and I'm determined to not meet any of their faces, especially not the Jew's. _God, I hate him so much_ I keep thinking while looking out the windows, chewing loudly.

I shove in the rest of my lunch in barely a minute in order to leave the table. Without bestowing anyone a word I rise with my plundered tray and head for the line out. Through my clouded thoughts I hear someone running up behind me. Turning around I see it is Kenny with his unfinished plate at hands. It's quite unusual for him to leave food. There's a short line formed behind me but Kenny has stood himself beside me.

"That was unfortunate." He declares sheepishly. "So what, we meet up anyways?" I give him a grunt and shove my tray onto one of the shelves.

"There's no change of plans. We'll still meet up, _all three of us._" On my last words I bore my eyes into his. The people behind us complain about Kenny getting ahead in line, squeaky girl voices ringing in my ear. I give it a sigh and tear Kenny's tray from his hands, shoving it in under my own before we make our exit from the cafeteria.

That persuasion technique didn't work on the Jew, so obviously I'll have to try a different approach. Right when we're outside the cafeteria I tell Kenny to go ahead since he suggested going out for a smoke. I pretend to be on my way for the bathrooms. When he's gone out of sight I stand clinging to a wall with good view of the exit we just emerged from. I only have to wait for a couple of minutes before the distinct stature crowned with a red nest of curls appears. And good, he's alone. He looks so amusingly silly when he is by his own, thinking nobody is watching him. When he's approaching the corner of the hallway I stride after in the same direction. He disappears behind it and when I've made my way to the corner as well, peeking around I can spot the next direction he's taking.

Something else in him than the thrill of spying evokes a smile in me. _I wonder if he knows he swings his hips like that when walking._ He's wearing black slim jeans and the silhouette of those columns of trained thighs leading up to my favorite part could set things standing anytime.

I keep following him through the main hall and down the few steps to our homeroom corridor. We pass some people on the way, but thankfully nobody from class who might spoil my game. Kyle, still completely unaware of my watching eyes stops in front of his locker and enter his combination. His face appears like being in a sleepy trance before he opens the locker door and his head is hidden behind it. I'll admit my hairs are standing in excitement right now when taking the first steps from my hiding spot.

When approaching him I reach out one hand and drum with my fingers along the metal lockers, creating low echoing noises in order not to startle the poor thing.

The sound waves hit his ears and behind the closing locker his staggered face appears. Automatically a grin creeps out on my face; I like that expression of his, looking like he was caught doing something incredibly naughty. I only get to enjoy it for half a second before his eyelids sink in awkward relief.

"A bit melodramatic, don't you think?" He mutters cynically and turns his nose to the locker, reaching up for something I cannot see. I make an amused grunt while circulating to the other side of him, where the locker door is not in the way of his pretty little face. I unleash a sigh when falling with my left shoulder against the locker beside his.

"Maybe I was a bit rude to you back there."

Kyle breaks out into a low laugh I don't hear too often from him. "Don't worry about it, dude. You can say I'm pretty used to it." He snickers, unwilling to see me eye-to-eye. I hum and take a few seconds to let him think that one sunk in.

"Well, what I wanted to say is that it would be really cool if you granted me and Kenny with your company this Saturday. I mean, Ike won't be playing hockey all night, will he?" Now those eyes meet mine, they wander down a bit before recurring.

"Probably not. But I've got other stuff to do than get high." He shoots before turning back to his bloody locker.

I make an alarmed ransack of my memory, but no, I cannot remember suggesting that part to him. He must be pulling that one just because of last time. Sometimes I underestimate his quick brains.

"We don't have to go down that road if you don't want to." I try with the friendliest tone I can bare. I can feel my leg twitch in irritation.

"You can do whatever you want." The Jew casually snorts back. This reply release the wave of built up frustration in me and without contemplating my following move I grab his left wrist from fumbling inside the locker. I tear it out and spin him around facing me. His stunning face holds a mixture of alarm and astonishment. I stare into his shrinking pupils while pressing his lower body hard against the bottom lockers and pinning his left wrist to his opened locker door.

I could with no hesitation lift my left hand right now and strike his bewildered face. But I don't, instead my rage takes another manifestation by stealing a firm kiss from his lips. I'd expect he would squirm and kick as usual but his body is completely still. His lips respond carefully to the kiss, like in hesitation. Having the upper-hand again relaxes my anger significantly. I seek my hand up behind him, touching the edges of his shoulder blades through the fabric of his shirt. I love feeling the bones through his skin, from his sharp hip bones stabbing my abdomen to the tiny ones in his slim wrist.

Aware of the seconds that have passed I let go but remain a few inches from his pacified face when whispering my next words to him.

"If you come this Saturday, Kahl, it will make me so happy." On the last word my lips sink in for another quicker kiss. Then I lock preying eyes with him to drag an answer out. The pools in his eyes with their mixture of golden green and sprinkles of brown dance nervously and he licks his lips. They seem to try forming words but soon give up when he just nods his head instead.

Giving him a rewarding smirk I release my grip from his wrist and move away from his body, increasing the gap between us. It reminds me of yesterday when leaving him in his afterglow against the wall in the showers, his limbs seeming to weaken and his breathing being heavier. When collecting himself he tosses nervous glances up and down the corridor, but it's in the middle of lunch so we've been alone here the entire time.

"Guess I'll see you on Saturday then." I break the silence with while shoving my hands down my pockets. Kyle straightens his back and puts on a composed face.

"I'll try." He mutters while turning his back to me, returning to whatever he was up to in his locker.

I lay a final grin at him before heading back the way I came.

That will do.


	9. I'm a nineties bitch

"I wasn't ignoring you. You were the one sneaking out early in the morning! I laid there like a fool thinking I'd dreamt the whole thing. Then I didn't hear from you so I was thinking you wanted to keep it unsaid."

"What about the text I sent you?"

"The text?"

"Yeah, yesterday. I know it wasn't very informative but..."

"Oh! I was at Token's all evening so I didn't see it until this morning when my phone was charged. It was kind of you however."

"So you didn't ignore it?"

"No, and honestly at first I thought you wanted me to."

His words created a silence between us, on my behalf since I was processing this new information. I was glad to know it all came down to an error in conversation, since I now can confess I was a bit hurt that he didn't made any effort talking to me this Monday.

While I was lying there, clasping my hands over my shirtless chest Cartman sighed and rolled over beside me. I could feel his eyes on me and I let him look. It was a hard test not meeting his gaze but I kept my own fixed at the ceiling, not really looking but only thinking about why exactly he may be watching so closely.

"You've got an odd shade of color in your eyes, Jew."

I finally turned my head toward him. His face was not as taunting like the words sounded, he merely observed me with a keen look, waiting for an answer. I sighed briefly while turning my gaze back to ceiling.

"Allegedly they're green" I paused for a moment. "But my mom says they resemble the color of seaweed."

Cartman scoffed and rolled onto his back in my bed. "Didn't even know seaweed had a particular color."

"Yeah, I don't know. But she always said my eyes had the exact same color as the weeds under the sea water when I was swimming in it."

"The sea water?"

"Yep, in New Jersey. Used to spend a couple of summers there in junior high."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that, you monster." Cartman chuckled. The instant flashback from fourth grade came to mind and my stomach involuntarily fluttered. Lightly I kicked his foot with mine as I fought back a smile to the wonderful tune of him laughing.

* * *

That was days ago, when Cartman was at my house. What a fucking day that was, it struck down like lightning from a clear sky. I'm not sure I've recovered from it yet, I mean, physically yes... But since then, Cartman has been acting all secretive, not carrying a conversation with me longer than a few sentences, at least not since by the lockers.

Now I stand frozen in front of my gaping wardrobe and can't decide whether to change or not. We just got back from Ike's hockey match. It dragged out on time and it didn't help with having Cartman and Douchebag being all over my ass, texting me about when I would be coming. I asked them who else they were talking about when they said everybody was waiting for me. And apparently Butters and Clyde are also over there. I wonder why Cartman invited them. I know he's in the same German class as Butters but otherwise they don't really hang out and definitely not outside of school. It doesn't surprise me though that Clyde has become Cartman's and Kenny's new best friend, so that was one thing making me reluctant against coming. But I guess if Cartman would let me stay the night I could consider trying some again. Maybe.

_Fuck it,_ we'll only be hanging at Cartman's so I decide to keep my grey t-shirt and blue jeans on. Having fetched the old necessary things; cell phone (or also known as my mom's leash on me) and keys, I skip down the stairs. My parents have made themselves comfortable on the couch after the ride home. Mom is lying down, taking up all the space as usual under a blanket and with dad cramped in the corner, massaging her feet. They're watching some lame crime movie.

Naturally her hawk eyes detect me as soon as I'm getting dressed.

"When will you be home, Bubeleh?" She asks just as I pull the coat over my shoulders.

"I already told you, I might spend the night." I peer at her over the collar. I did mention it earlier, but only through mumbling it in the car on the way home and I doubt that anyone heard it. She instantly frowns in the cold TV-light.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Kayl." She states with eyes back on the TV and I feel my courage sinking.

"No, you have the basketball class tomorrow." Dad suddenly chimes in. If he's against it too this might not work.

"That's not until one o' clock!" I cry in gloom "I'll just be over at the next door and you can call me anytime." I plead a bit more composed, even holding up my lightened phone screen as some sort of proof. My parents glance over at each other and both of them seem to search for words. My mom beats my dad to it.

"You should at least bring your insulin with you." She orders.

"Oh come on…" I slouch down and toss my head back, not the smoothest move but the annoyance crawls like a snake under my skin.

"You will bring your insulin and that's **FINAL!** I will let you stay over at Eric's to which you should be grateful!" Mom roars and even dad looks a bit uncomfortable from the disturbed atmosphere. I struggle not to meet her gaze while I amble over to the kitchen, exhaling spiteful through my nose. When I've furiously torn the drawer open, loud and boisterous, and shoved the kit down in my pocket I march back to the front door. Before I open it, mom gives a final command.

"And you will stay **only** at Eric Cartman's house." Her words hit my back like spears.

"Yes mom." I mumble before heading out in the cold. Times like this almost make me swallow my pride and think of her with the same word as Cartman would use.

Damn, the nights just keep getting colder and colder. And in my furious exit I didn't bring a hat or gloves, so I hurry over to Cartman's house, almost stumbling on the empty driveway.

Douchebag opens the door when I ring it. Loud laughter blended with party music streams out, seeming to first coming from nowhere.

"You having a party or something?" I grin huddling in my coat.

"Hey, you made it!" Douchebag's greeting overlaps my comment and he lets me in. "**EY,** he's here!" He turns hollering to the living room. It really sounded like there were more people in the room but the only ones here are Cartman, sitting leaned forward on the couch next to Butters plumped beside Clyde who is sipping on a beer. Their attention seems to be directed at Kenny in front of them, sitting Indian style on the floor. When Douchebag makes the announcement however, they all turn their heads. Butters cheerfully shouts 'hi' to me and Cartman cranes his neck with a half-smile.

"Finally" Clyde groans and puts his bottle on the lamp table next to the couch. "Then we can get to it." He's actually taken the effort to wear some proper jeans for once, instead of training slacks. And on top he wears a long-sleeved t-shirt. The two garments flatter his toned body that he usually dress down so much. However, his hair is neatly styled, pushed back as usual. The style makes me think about Pidgeotto from Pokémon.

"Not yet! We have some good ones left!" Kenny exclaims from the floor, he holds up someone's cell phone in front of him. Douchebag puts his mouth close to my ear, speaking with a lower voice. His breath smells of beer.

"We're playing never have I ever. So Kenny is quite buzzed!" He snickers and turns away, I follow him to their gathering. They've shifted the coffee table to the side and it's crowded with a dozen of opened beer bottles, most of them empty with labels peeled off. The speakers by the TV are playing some house cover of a euro disco song from the 90's.

"This music is terrible." I mutter to Douchebag now that we stand by the coffee table.

"That's because you're not drunk enough." Douchebag points out triumphantly and moves over to the dining table behind him, grabbing a large vodka bottle by its neck. I didn't see that one when walking in.

"Where did you get so lucky?" I ask nodding at the bottle. Douchebag looks at me foolishly before getting my meaning and raises the bottle with a smile, making the liquid inside ripple.

"I stole it from my dad. He'll probably freak out but you know… _yolo_." He says and reaches for a used glass on the coffee table. I scoff at him, especially because of his last choice of word.

"How much have you been drinking, dude?"

Douchebag responds with a cocked eyebrow above a glare and a sly grin. He then kneels down in front of the coffee table and pours the vodka into the glass smudged with fingerprints.

"That's sick, dude!" Clyde suddenly exclaims a bit louder than the tone they've been using behind us, supposedly from reading out a statement. Kenny chuckles delighted and sets down the bottle he just took a sip from.

"What's so sick about it? I live right next to the forest." He giggles.

"Yeah, but just… _why?_" Clyde cries in slight despair, marking it with an upheld palm.

"Why not? We all have our urges, son. Come on, I bet you can also drink to it." Kenny tilts his head to the side.

"No!" Clyde yells, making Cartman snicker and Butters to bubble of joy.

"Butters... **BUTTERS!**" Douchebag hollers. Butters looks up with a craned neck and arched brows. "Gimmie the soda."

"Oh sure, sure!" Butters reach down to his feet where a large half-filled bottle of sprite is parked on the floor. He rises and skips over with it to us by the "mixing table".

"It's sugar-free!" He chirps with a toothed smile directed at me while handing the bottle to Douchebag. I return the smile, without the teeth however and nod gratefully. Butters take a modest sip from his own glass he's been holding onto. It's a clear fizzy drink, probably made up by the same ingredients Douchebag is blending. I can't help but think I look like a total slacker in my day-worn clothes next to Butters. He is always well-dressed, he started taking a notice in freshman year, and tonight is no exception. Wearing a light blue button down shirt with its white collar popped under a navy cardigan with white edges, paired with dark red up-folded chinos he's the most striking person in the room. He even topped it off with some colorful socks, one yellow and one blue. They don't seem to be a pair.

"Nice socks." It slips out of me; he deserves a compliment for at least one attire. He grins a bit bashful.

"Thanks, buddy. Nice…uh… shirt!" I saw how he searched for something on me to compliment back on. I look down on my washed out t-shirt with a faded print reading Judas Priest. I've had it for years, still fits me thanks to being very baggy once upon a time in fifth grade. Turning back up I sport a half-smile and shrug.

Douchebag hands me the glass he just filled up with sprite zero. I accept it however somewhat hesitating.

"This was for me?"

"Yes! You need it for the game." Douchebag slaps my back and shoves me over to join their main gathering. Butters returns to his middle seat on the couch while Douchebag and I sit down on either side of Kenny on the floor, transforming us into a half circle. Cartman hands Douchebag a beer bottle he probably put aside before inviting me.

"Kay… how does this stupid thing work?" Apparently they get the made-up statements from an app or something and Clyde is the one holding the phone, frowning at it. Kenny sighs a bit irritated.

"You just press the button for a new question." He explains. Clyde nods slowly.

"All right… _Never have I ever… seen more… than ten porn clips in one day… or night._" He stutters with the same frown, like he was reading it in a foreign language. Kenny instantly takes another sip, to which Clyde immediately reacts on. "Dude, is there _anything_ you can't drink on?" He shouts with the same voice and hand gesture he'd probably use out on the field when given the red card.

Kenny's lips let go of the bottle with a pop and he looks at Clyde wide-eyed and a palm up.

"That's only normal. I mean, you set up three or four clips, if one is boring you just watch another one playing, and change the boring one! It could easily get up to ten clips, especially if going a second time." He explains with thorough enthusiasm, like a stock broker discussing the market, a sneer breaking out on his last words however and yes, the pumping gesture. Cartman has watched his explanation with sincere interest and a second after Kenny finishes his speech, Cartman takes a sip from his own bottle.

"Yeah, I have to agree with Kenny." Douchebag utters and also take a sip. I think for a moment.

"Yep, me too." I sigh and take my first sip for the evening. It's awfully mixed and so strong I have to fight back a grimace as my shoulders tremble and my head jerks from side to side. Our eyes wander over to Butters. He notices as his own gaze darts nervously about, he fidgets with the glass held by both of his hands. But then the glass is slowly raised to his lips and the music is drowned out by our howls. Clyde scratches his head a bit awkwardly and then hands over the phone to Butters. He silently clicks on the screen.

"_Never have I ever broken someone's heart._" He reads out, loud and clear. I notice Cartman rolling his eyes. Next to me Kenny and Douchebag exchange meaning glances before they bring their bottles together for a clinking toast and simultaneously each take a sip.

"That's a lame one." Clyde mutters head in his hands and Butters tosses him a quick glance.

"Yeah, that app sucks." Cartman concurs, leaning back into the couch with one foot on his knee.

"We can make up our own statements." Kenny shrugs.

"Yeah, ones that will make Kyle start drinking!" Douchebag exclaim in a smirk. I roll my eyes when Kenny agrees with him.

"Yes! Everybody makes up statements that sure will make him drink!" He cries while lifting his bottle and directs the neck around in a circle. I groan and defensively pull my knees up, resting my elbows on them and holding my full glass in between. "We'll start out with an easy one." Kenny continues, holding up a hand to bring silence around us, leaving the air open for the music. "Never have I ever eaten kosher."

I cock an eyebrow at him. "What if I can't drink on that?" I state with a cunning grin. Kenny's own dark blond brows knit together.

"Yes you can, can you? You're supposed to drink if you _have_ done it." He reminds me and I nod. "So drink!" I shrug and take sip, once again fighting the grimace from emerging.

"I've got one." Douchebag interferes. "Never have I ever had a wet dream about Bebe Stevens." He says and forms his lips around his own beer bottle, Kenny follows his example. Cartman chuckles behind his fist, the sly eyes flickering on me. An old familiar irritation grows in me, like when I was pushed to the floor at the lacrosse game and when we were in my room and he called my mom a bitch.

Clyde tosses a quick glimpse at Butters before also taking a sip to the Bebe statement. Butters himself abstain like Cartman but the attention is still focused on me.

"Seriously?" Douchebag cries and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"She's not my type." I declare with a shrug. That wasn't too bad, and maybe it will finally shut them up about me having to tap her. It is a possible outcome since Douchebag pulls the corners of his mouth down and nods.

"All right…" He continues nodding. "Well, anyone else got one?" He turns to the others on the couch. "Cartman, I do believe it's your turn."

Cartman takes a deep breath while looking away in contemplation. The beer bottle is rolled between his palms. I watch him attentively. His foot slides down from his knee to the floor just as he looks back at me with a shifty smile and treacherous eyes.

"Never have I ever received a blowjob at school."

I swear I think my heart just stopped.

In the corners of my eyes I can see Kenny grinning and Clyde arching his eyebrows. Cartman keeps his taunting stare at me, like he can see me falling apart, piece by piece. _Touché fatso, touché._ With eyes on the carpet I lift the suddenly very heavy glass to my lips.

"**That's my man!**" Kenny hollers and gives me a hard slap on the back, almost making me spit up what I just swallowed. The other three howls like they did when Butters drank earlier. Butters and Clyde lift their legs in laughter and Douchebag just grins at me in thrilled astonishment. I toss a glimpse at Cartman; his gaze is fixed on a spot beside me and he rubs his chin, plastered with a smirk forced by the laughter around him.

"Well, **who the hell** is she then?" Douchebag exclaim in forged despair. I assume he meant, but excluded the words _if she is not Bebe?_

"Next question!" I shout and make Butters laugh with Clyde.

"Oh no no no…" Douchebag says and change his sitting position. "Part of the game _is_ to give details."

"Yeah!" Kenny coincides.

"God, you two…" I mutter and look away from the half circle, but when my head returns to them I sport a smile. "She wasn't even that good… but a great ball sucker." I state and flash my teeth. Through the 'ooohs' being exclaimed around me I absorb every magnificent bit of Cartman's expression. His face is completely drained from amusement and his brows are lowered as he spitefully glares at me. It provokes a grin in me.

"Niice." Clyde states while nodding.

* * *

"All right, don't inhale so deep now." Kenny instructs me with a gleam of true consideration in his night sky blue eyes. He holds up the joint in front of my face and I honestly think he's personally going to guide it into my mouth. Denouncing that thought I grab it between my thumb and index finger, preparing my mind with the injunctions Kenny, Cartman and myself have repeated. _Only one puff, one light one._ _In, hold, out._

I slowly reach over to the two-seat couch beside me to hand the joint over to Clyde. He is seated with Butters legs over his lap. Their position would probably look strange if we were sober but right now nobody makes any comment about it. Clyde takes his hit and gives the joint to Butters, who seems really relaxed when laying his head back onto the armrest and blows out the smoke like a fountain.

"Here, buddy." He mutters a bit raspy and extent his arm holding the joint out to Cartman, who sits in a chair on the opposite side from them across the garden table. Cartman makes a grunt from having to get up to reach it. Falling back into the chair he locks his lips around the joint, coughing a little after breathing it in. Last in line is Douchebag, situated next to Kenny on the plastic sun chair. The three of us share the chair with me by the foot end and Kenny in the middle. We sit huddling in our jackets and fill the air with exhaled steam and smoke. Nobody says much as we let the joint pass around in said order. Cartman complains however from always having to get up from his seat to Butters.

"Why do I always have to come to you, butt face?"

"Well… sorry but I'm very comfortable here." Butters pleads innocently to which Cartman grunts.

"You can sit in my lap if you want, Butters." Kenny states bouncing his eyebrows at Butters and strokes his own knee. His cheesy elaborated move makes me drop my head down in laughter. The two drinks I had, the second one even stronger than the first, have worked their magic and the weightlessness is palpable. The game forced me up to the same level as the other guys sooner than I expected since they deliberately made statements I doubtless could drink on. "Never have I ever given more than ten bucks to a homeless / beat up a friend / went to a synagogue / kicked a sibling" and so on, the statements got so increasingly obvious it finally came down to ones like "never have I ever had red hair".

"You're such a fag." Douchebag shakes his head and smirks at Kenny.

"Aw, there's no shame in it." Kenny responds and swiftly comes up on his feet. "I swing this way…" He extends his arm dramatically to the left. "…and I swing that way." He continues with his other arm extending to the right, when we laugh at him he swings an invisible baseball bat in front of him. Out of cherish bromance I could honestly rise up and hug him, but I abstain while clutching my arm in some form of restraint.

"Or any other way." Clyde joins in and grins with a hand behind his neck.

"Never knew you were an Aerosmith's fan." Douchebag remarks somewhat uninterested. Clyde just shrugs, not seeming to catch up on the acidity in Douchebag's voice. Clyde is probably the only person on this planet I've noticed Douchebag hasn't quite got along with. One could suppose it's from when they first met in fourth grade and Clyde took it a bit hard when Cartman replaced him by the new kid. It seems really far-fetched but I can't think of any other reason for their mutual frostiness.

"No he ain't." Butters suddenly chimes in with his colorful foot bumping on Clyde's knee before dropping his feet down on the floor boards. He gets up from the couch when Kenny nibs the put out joint from the table. He is about to collect the cigarette pack and lighter as well but Cartman tells him to leave it.

Kenny is the first one to go through the slide door with Butters, Clyde and Douchebag behind him. I'm about to head for the door as well, but on my way I feel a harsh hand slapping onto my abdomen. The hand belongs to Cartman still seated in his chair.

"Not so fast, Jew." He mumbles while glaring up at me, still pressing his hand against me. The warm touch makes me cheer inside but I force on an irritable voice.

"What do you want, fatso?" I slur and toss a quick glance at the door. Douchebag who was last in line is now inside the kitchen, taking a short look back over his shoulder but miss my gaze and continues to the living room. My gaze returns to Cartman, he blinks for a second before pushing me back onto the sun chair. I could probably have resisted against his movement but somehow I don't, I'm curious what he wants. So I drop down with a heavy thump, causing the plastic material to creak painfully.

Cartman doesn't bestow me a single glance while he picks up the cigarette pack and lights one up. Then he gets up from the chair and closes the door the guys left open for us. He saunters back and drops down in his seat, a bit more gracefully than I did and scrutinizes me while taking a puff. My arms fall out on either side of me with palms up. I also make an inquisitive look crowned with a cocked eyebrow in order to drag some words out of him. He dabs off some ash, it floats down to the floor boards like snowflakes while he blows out the smoke.

"I didn't hear you complaining a single time in the showers. In fact, you seemed to think I was pretty damn good." He states and on the last word bringing the cigarette to his lips again. The end glows bright red. I snort with a half-smile and lean forward with elbows on my knees.

"It's called revenge. You were the one almost exposing us."

Cartman chuckles scornfully through his exhaled cloud. His brown evil cat eyes are gleaming from the lights inside the kitchen.

"Us?"

"Yes. You and I. Fucking each other." My head bobs a bit when articulating the words for him. Cartman makes the displeased face I sought and he tosses a paranoid look at the kitchen, but it's empty. The music is turned up from inside the living room so loud that I can make out the lyrics. Cartman turns his chair towards me and leans forward as well. Our faces are barely two feet apart.

"Listen you kike, stop playing around." He points the cigarette pinched between his index and long finger at me. "I'm willing to pound your ass again, but in that case you'd better fucking behave or else."

"Or else what?" I interrupt him with a provoking voice, boring my widened eyes into his. He takes another puff and blows the toxic fumes into my face, breaking up my expression into a coughing frown.

"How far are you willing to go to find out, Kahl?" His voice is threatening and his brows lowered. I narrow my eyes at him, riding on the tense silence. He cuts it off with a short scoff and a half-smile while flicking away the butt on the wet lawn. Then he leans in even closer and his hand seeks its way up my inner thigh.

"Right answer, Jew." His fingers curl into a squeeze before brushing away when he rises. A bit swaying he ambles up to the door, the music streams out when he slides it open. I watch his back when he walks across the kitchen shouting "**AY, TURN IT DOWN!**"

In stunned drunkenness and approaching cloudiness I turn lying down in the sun chair, crossing my arms to warm up my hands in my armpits. It's so freezing out and even though I have my coat on I'm missing my shoes. But I let the cold embrace me, gripping and numbing me down. It helps keeping my thoughts away, and concentrating on feeling the weed taking over. I smack my tongue against the palate and lick my lips, still all right but they will get drier than a bucket of sand. Fortunately I did not have to suffer that for long the last time since I had someone else's tongue hydrating me. From that thought, a smile creeps out on my lips.

I don't know how many minutes pass before my introspection is erupted by Kenny shouting from the doorway.

"Dude, get in here! We're gonna shave Douchebag's head!" When I turn my heavy head he's already sprinting back to the living room. I tiredly swing my legs off the chair and stand up. Good thing the door isn't too far away because grabbing onto the frame of it keeps me from tipping over. I stumble across the kitchen to discover the scene in the living room. Kenny is rushing up the stairs with Cartman shambling behind him. Douchebag is sitting on the floor with a rolling head and Butters is crouching down in front of him, Clyde is sprawled on the couch watching them.

"What… th-the hell is going on?" I state thickly, my tongue doesn't really want to work with me. Butters looks up at me.

"We're giving him a new do." He smiles joyful and stands up. His cardigan is discarded and the sleeves of his expensive shirt are sloppily rolled up. The white collar and the bright colored fabric bring my thoughts over to a doctor or an evil scientist, which is mad since Butters is not acting very shrewd at all.

"Hey… is this really a good idea?" I state with cutting eyelids and drag a tired hand through my hair. Butters fall backwards, he lands on the couch in front of Clyde's hips.

"Well… uh he said we could do it." Butters stutters hesitantly in Douchebag's place, who doesn't even seem to be aware of that people are talking around him. He just sits with his head cast down like he was meditating. While I can hear Kenny's bright voice from upstairs and other echoing noises going on between tiled walls I go and take a seat on the couch's armrest by Clyde's feet. Douchebag finally lifts his head and let it fall backwards instead with closed eyes to god.

"I'm…. so gone… man." He mutters very jagged with his protruding Adam's apple dancing. Clyde chuckles with a raspy throat.

"You fucking jackass." His hand falls down on his forehead and the chuckle goes over into a laugh that Butters join in on while leaning back on the trained jock thighs. Douchebag presses forth a smile and sets his head straight with a bob, like he had some liquid rippling about inside his skull. His eyes are now half open and stare up at me, like he was listening to me talking. He makes me feel a bit uncomfortable and if I was sober he'd probably scare the crap out of me. But I just laugh nervously.

"What?" I state and Douchebag rolls his weary blood-shot eyes with a snorting grin while shaking his head. Was he thinking about something to comment on me, but decided to keep it to himself?

I guess I'll never know when the stairs starts rumbling from multiple feet to our right. When turning my gaze to it I see Kenny's slinky shape skipping down, fingers grasping something small and black. He sets it buzzing for a second to gain our attention and make me comprehend it's a shaver he is holding. He comes at Douchebag with a maniac grin, turning the shaver on and off in a taunting threat. Douchebag toss his head to the side and looks wide-eyed up at Kenny like a shy kid meeting a stranger. The scene looks so unlike them, Douchebag is completely defenseless in his stoned drunkenness against Kenny's frenzied actions. This is submission vs dominance painted to perfection.

Following behind Kenny was Cartman with a not as much enthusiastic face, carrying a red bath towel. He makes his way past the mad hair dresser and wraps the towel around Douchebag's shoulders, making him appear even more disoriented.

"All right, will my assistant be so kind?" Cartman exclaim courteous with a reached out palm to Kenny. His large frame is kneeling behind Douchebag's back with a hand on his terry covered shoulder.

"No way, I wanna do it!" Kenny cries and hugs the shaver to his shoulder like a toy Cartman is trying to steal from him.

"No Kinny, gimme it!" Cartman rise onto his knees and curls his fingers at Kenny. Jesus fucking Christ…

"**Come on,** doesn't matter who's doing it if he's only going **_bald!_**" I complain gripping at my own hair. Kenny looks at me, surprised by my outburst but soon gives me a shrewd smirk.

"No no no no." He goes kneeling down beside Cartman who moves over a bit. "I know exactly how he will look. I know what to give him." He gives me an actual wink and bite down on his tongue, looking like a 14 year old bubblegummer, before turning serious and directing his attention to the buzzing shaver brought to Douchebag's head.

"Are you doing it now? Ugh… I can feel it." Douchebag shudders with quivering shoulders.

"Hold still." Kenny mutters and narrows his eyes, a few tufts of dark blond hair from behind Douchebag's left ear tumbles down on Kenny's grasping fingers. Butters climbs down from the couch and crawls over to watch the defloration up close.

"Y-you're not shaving all the way down." He remarks. Kenny removes the shaver and observes his work done so far.

"No… I'm not."

"You can't do it like… Ugh! Let me." Cartman growls and wrap his fingers around Kenny's grip and he push some button before bringing the shaver back to Douchebag's head. With Kenny's hand still between his own and the shaver he demonstrates some angle he probably has discovered working better, since it's his shaver and all. I notice Kenny tossing him a funny glance but absorb the technique Cartman teaches him. By now there's a very noticeable crew-cut spot on the side of Douchebag's head.

Cartman gives Kenny free hands again and sits back on the floor to watch. Butters heads over to the laptop changing to another song when Kenny commands him to and a while into it Kenny starts humming with the lyrics while nodding his head. _You're on a different road..hmhmhm.. Milky Way hmhm hm hmhm hm, but I am up in space. You're so damn hard to please, hm hm kill this switch. You're from the seventies, but I'm a nineties bitch._

"Kenny, you sound like when you had that jacket!" I yell out from my trance, probably from the loud refrain breaking out and Kenny looks up at me smiling.

"Eh, what?"

"You know!" I leap off the armrest and stumble over to him, almost tripping over Butters legs and crouch down. "You know, like this." I grab the hood of Kenny's blue sweatshirt and pull it over his head. He flinches a bit but allows me to put the collar over his mouth. "There, you had it like that! And when you spoke it was like…" I cover my mouth with my hand and make a few piping muffled sounds. Behind me from the couch I hear a hoarse panting laughter breaking out, it sounds like the laugh of an old man and when I turn around Clyde even whacks his own knee to make it complete. He looks hilarious though and I think everybody laughs more at his reaction than my impression.

"Oh fuck yes… Kenny the motherfucking cat!" Clyde mutters when regaining his breath and he takes a sip of a leftover beer he found. It's probably lukewarm since we ran out earlier. "Remember that time in shop class when he dropped his ass in that box of nails? Holy shit, man that must've hurt!"

Kenny presses his lips together and nods, he has handed over the shaving job to Cartman who is very focused on the task.

"Yeah, that was fun. We ran out of band aids so fast mum had to tape me up with toilet paper." Kenny sighs, but his voice is set to entertain rather than to evoke pity. "NO, fucktard! You're supposed to shave his SIDES!" He suddenly exclaims to Cartman and tries to guide the shaver in his hand right before being pushed away. "Fucking poor boy." Cartman grunts, supposedly a delayed comment for the toilet paper statement. Butters suddenly jolts with a hand in the air.

"Oh! Oh! And what about the time we sneaked into that mad man's house a-and he thought Kenny was his son." He exclaims enthusiastically. I laugh when the scene comes to mind.

"Yeah, right out the window!" I snigger and whistle while making a hand motion to simulate how Kenny had been thrown out from the window on the second floor. Kenny throws his head back with a toothed smile and I give the back of his head a scratch before slapping the same spot lightly. He falls back landing on his elbows. With raised knees his jeans clad thighs look exceptionally slim.

"Let me guess, he stood like nothing happened." Clyde mutters with eyes half closed.

"Without a scratch." Kenny states with a proud face. "Only a bit wet from landing in the pool." He frowns.

"Yep, that's Kenny for you, always landing on his feet." I sigh and deliberately tumble down on top of him, with my upper back on his flat tummy. My head has fallen back a bit and with the back of it resting on the floor I can see an upside-down Cartman looking down at me from the hair styling.

"How's it going there, Jew?" He jeers with amuse, I think he raises an eyebrow but I can't tell for sure from being upside-down. The others are still bringing up more of Kenny's accidents.

"Sleepy." I grumble and rub my eyes. And I really am, if I hold my eyes closed for any longer I will definitely doze off. My whole body feels very heavy. Although Kenny is not making any effort to push me off of him I come up to a sitting position next to him. My head is spinning from the hasted move. I sit and blink the dizziness away for a moment before slowly and not very gracefully getting up on my feet. I sway when coming up and can hear somebody commenting me but I ignore it while dragging a hand through my disheveled curls.

From a choice made by impulse and a little remaining survival instinct I amble over to the stairs and make my heavy way up to the second floor. I'm not quite sure what door I'm opening but it's not the one to Cartman's bedroom because I stumbled way too far down the hallway.

The room feels a bit brighter than the others upstairs, although the electric lights are out and only the moon light gives away the furniture for my fainting gaze. It instantly lands on the large bed when the door allows me to see it. I hesitate for a moment but toss away my decent manners and close the door behind me before stumbling forwards and then falling face down and arms outreached. _Man down._

The covers have that distinct foreign smell of someone else's house, only a bit more palpable than in the air around. I crawl up to lay myself in a correct position. The same feeling I had when sneaking off at Clyde's party rinse through me, only a million times better and more satisfying from the weed. This bed is also more comfortable, the dark wooden frame looks old and run down but the mattress feels firm and expensive. Wish I had some water though. My mouth can't be doing well from being this dry I think to myself while adjusting my lips from their overbite.

My head falls to the right and through the darkness I can make out a framed picture on the nightstand. The old familiar face of ten-year old Cartman looks a bit distressed away from the camera and up at someone in a mildly creepy bunny costume. Cartman is seated in the bunny's lap and there must be a restrained frown hidden behind that bunny mask due to the heavy kid weighing down the knee. A snort escapes my nose and a smile from my lips. _Fucking fatass._

I roll onto my stomach and make a bold reach for the top drawer, the motion is fueled by the substances in my body and from the creeping rush of being alone and unseen. I guess I only have myself to blame for wincing inside from the sight of a shiny tool made out of purple plastic. Even though she's not my mom I feel ashamed for breaking through the last paper wall of privacy. I quickly regain my calm and my eyes land on another more interesting object. I take it out and roll onto my back, scrutinizing it upheld in the cold shade of light coming through the window. It has just the shape of a regular pipe, although being made out of greenish glass. When inspecting it closer I can see the bowl is engraved with the letters "L.C". The engraving looks almost a bit ridiculous in its contrast to the crack pipe. Like one where to put a cursive monogram on a dirty skateboard.

Footsteps suddenly approach outside the door and an overwhelming panic wash over me. With no clue of where to go I roll off the bed and cushion my fall with my hand. Right then the door opens. My first though is that it must be Cartman coming to get something, but he can't see me holding his mother's crack pipe! It's not only rude but it would also be incredibly insensitive of me to bring out that dark part of her. So what do I do? I roll through the hanging bed spread and into the darkness under the bed with the pipe pressed to my chest.

"Is this her room?" I can instantly make out the dark raspy voice as Clyde's. What the hell would he be doing in here?

"Y-yeah… smells a bit icky, I know." That bright stammering voice is even easier to make out; I could do it from a mile's distance. It's Butters. I can see the shadows of their moving feet through the tiny gap between the floor and the bed frame. The shadows dance in the electric light pouring in from the hallway but are drowned in darkness again when I hear the door being shut.

"It will do." I can hear Clyde stating a bit lower and then he exhales audibly. Was that a smacking sound? A brighter whimper is released through the muffled sound of fabric ruffling and heavy breathing.

"W-wait… Y-you sure no one will come here?"

"The fuck should I know, you suggested it." That sounded gruff and a short silence follows before Clyde sniggers, at least I think he is. "No… none of that now, Butterscotch. Come here." Their footsteps come closer and then I can see the dim shadows of their feet on the other side of the bed. The feet being clad in one yellow sock and a darker blue one, and a pair of black sports socks. The bed makes a squeak, blended with a heavy thud in the mattress and a faint gasp from Butters. I guess he's the one that took the fall.

Every passing second makes it even more difficult for me to roll out on the floor and shatter their moment of being "alone". This is what makes me lying frozen in the same position, afraid to even move my hands in case I would make a sound. I close my eyes and pretend I'm asleep. But their noises are impossible to block out and an aching nervousness starts rumbling in my stomach. Especially when they start to let out aroused moans through their loud breathing.

"Take off your pants. I want you… I want you now." Butters gasps and shortly thereafter the clinking of a belt being opened chimes through the room.

_Oh fuck… roll out, Kyle. Roll out!_

* * *

**_A/N: Never have I ever been drunk while writing fan fiction. *drinks*_**

**_All right, that became a bit longer that estimated so although this is the most evil thing I've ever had to do, I have to cut out the Clutters for the next chapter. If for no other reason then to just make you hang around for it!_**

**_Special thanks to my editor and friend, ask1kylebroflovski. May his exploding heart rest in peace._**

**_The Butterscotch was for my Buttercup, hope you like it._**


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